The Prince and the Rose
by collegefangirl3791
Summary: A collection of all my previously-published and future Romanogers one-shots. A lot of short stories about their relationship (romantic and otherwise). Usually angst, fluff, whatever. Currently taking requests.
1. Chapter 1: Flip a Coin

Flip a Coin

"So you're on his side," Steve said wearily, staring at her. Natasha's green eyes were more open than he'd seen them in a long time, but her stance was defensive.

"You boys," she said wryly. "You always make it about sides and picking favorites. I'm not on _his side_ , Rogers. I'm not fighting for Tony, I'm fighting for what I think is right. And you know how that works."

Steve scowled, looking away for a moment. "I know."

Natasha leaned back against a tree, pushing windblown wisps of hair out of her face. She looked tired too, but Steve knew that was only because she was letting him see it. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and sat down on the ground next to the tree. "You were right. Maybe I shouldn't have started all this."

"I'm always right," she snorted.

He smiled ruefully. "Yeah, seems that way."

They rested in silence for a few minutes. The warm spring breeze was sweet and promising, and for a little while Steve allowed himself to relax, pretending that this was just an ordinary day. That he and Natasha weren't enemies now.

"New jacket?"

He glanced up with a wry smile. "Yeah."

"What happened to the old one?"

He shrugged. "You can only save the world so many times before things get worn out. I'm starting to see why Superman wears his suit under his clothes all the time. It's a lot more convenient in case of emergencies and you end up with a lot fewer blood stains and holes in things."

Nat laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. "That makes sense. You're caught up on Superman, then?"

"Please." Steve rolled his eyes. "I've _been_ caught up on him. I even watched that new one, Man of Steel. He has no concern for civilian safety whatsoever."

"Very irresponsible of him."

"Yeah." Steve stood, stretching his sore muscles and letting out a quiet groan. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"Arthritis acting up?"

"Oh, shut up."

They stood facing each other, then, with nothing more to say. Steve knew he had to go. He had plans to make. But something told him that this was goodbye. Maybe just goodbye till the end of the war, maybe longer, but he wasn't ready to walk away yet. Natasha's eyes were sympathetic; she apparently understood his difficulty. She always knew what was bothering him, but she never mocked him for it.

"Stay safe, Steve," she said gently.

"I'll try." He swallowed and glanced down. "Don't die, alright?"

"Oh come on, Rogers," she scoffed. "You know I'm not going to."

"I mean it." He looked back up and reached out to grip her wrist with one hand, almost afraid that she would just turn and leave. She did that a lot. "I need you to be okay."

Nat's eyes softened, but he also sensed her withdrawing into herself. He hated it when she did that, although he understood it. "I'll be fine, Steve," she sighed. "You should be more worried about yourself. I know how you are." She gently pulled her wrist out of his grasp and stepped back. "See you on the battlefield."

He nodded, already regretting the distance between them. So on an impulse, he moved forward and put his arms around her. She tensed, and he swore silently, but then she sighed and hugged him back. They held onto each other, acknowledging the possibility that one of them might not make it through this insane war. Then Steve let go and gave her his best military salute.

"See you around, Romanoff."

"Rogers."

* * *

 **A/N: Been getting OTP feels as I prepare for Civil War, so this happened.**

 **Inspired by the song "Castle" by Halsey.**

 **Follow me on my Tumblr: agentofsassarwenfolchart221b**

 **Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Moment

Moment

He almost didn't see it happen. You miss the little things sometimes. Normally that just means you forget to tell someone you love them, or you don't notice that one fleck of golden yellow in your best friend's eye, or you step on a daisy because you didn't see it.

Almost missing your friend's death… that's a little more serious.

Steve and Bucky were trading punches with Black Panther on the roof of Avengers HQ, and Steve happened to look up just in time to see Natasha fall.

It wasn't a very far fall, but it was far enough.

Steve yelled, an inarticulate, wordless cry, and everyone turned. Immediately Tony took off, to catch her, to stop her fall.

But there wasn't enough time.

The battle drew to a crashing halt.

Tony flew back up to the roof, Natasha hanging limp in his arms.

Scott appeared suddenly, having grown to full size. From the horrified look on his face, it was apparent that he'd been the one fighting Natasha.

"What the hell happened?" Steve's voice echoed far too loud over the roof.

Scott still looked shocked. "I… I got carried away, I guess… I didn't see how close we were to the roof, and I landed a hit on her head…"

The Captain swore violently, clenching his fist. Clint strode over, his eyes blazing, and Steve didn't think he would hold the archer back if he went after Scott.

"See, this is what happens, Cap," Tony started to say, but Steve swung around and pointed at him threateningly.

"Don't you dare, Tony," he growled. "Don't you dare. This isn't about the goddamn war, you son of a bitch. Back off."

Tony looked ashamed, and he carefully set Natasha down on the roof and backed away. Steve and Clint immediately hurried over and knelt down next to her; Clint checked her pulse (although Friday had undoubtedly done so already) while Steve cradled her head and shoulder against his torso.

Clint looked up, his grey eyes dull. "She's dead."

Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever heard a silence so loud. He felt a slim, ringed hand come to rest on his shoulder; Wanda. Sam crouched next to him, lending him the support he couldn't admit he needed.

"God," Tony breathed.

Scott started stammering apologies, but Steve tuned him out.

 _Not again_.

 _Not again._

 _This wasn't fair._

"There's gotta be something…" Bucky sounded helpless, and Steve immediately stood up (lifting Nat into his arms). He gave Bucky a confident smile, one that his friend would have seen through at once, and nodded. He couldn't let his friend worry about him. He didn't need that burden.

"There's _always_ something. Friday, what're her vital signs?"

"No pulse. No breathing. Her nervous system is shutting down completely. There's no brain activity either."

Tony scowled as if he wanted to smack his AI. "Sorry, she's new still. I've been trying to program her, but she's still not as good as…" He stopped and sighed. "Forget it."

Steve wanted to be angry at Tony for this, but it wasn't Tony's fault. Well, maybe a little, but he couldn't go around casting blame now. "We can do something, we can give her some adrenaline. Restart her heart. Something."

"Sure, Steve."

Tony took Natasha from him, and his mask clicked shut, hiding his grieving brown eyes.

"Come on, man." Sam had Steve sit down _(he didn't want to sit down, damn it, he wanted to fix this)_ and Clint joined him after a frozen moment. "Here, I'm gonna go get you something to drink. Just sit tight, okay?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah."

He stared at the pavement between his boots, feeling numb all over. As if he'd only just gotten out of the ice again and he didn't know where to go, what to do.

"Guys, I really am sorry," came Scott's voice. Broken. Apologetic. Stunned. Steve looked up, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl.

"Yeah, you better be."

Clint put a hand on his arm. It was probably supposed to be calming, restraining, but Steve could feel red-hot rage boiling in his gut, and he'd found someone to blame all of this on. Part of him told him this wasn't the way to handle it, he'd make Bucky nervous, he'd hurt Scott, but he didn't care. For once, he was sick and tired of sitting back and letting things happen, damn it, and he refused to believe that Nat was gone. He had to do something, had to help somehow.

"I never meant to… I got carried away. I didn't pay attention to where we were, and I thought she'd dodge me or something, I don't-"

Steve was on his feet then, slamming a balled right fist into Scott's face before the man could finish. It stung his knuckles, but it felt good, so Steve brought his knee up into his teammate's stomach as he fell.

He felt Bucky grab at his uniform, but he shook himself free and straddled Scott, punching him in the face again. And again. Then Bucky and Rhodey grabbed him and hauled him back.

Clint joined them and gripped Steve's shoulders, staring him in the eye. Steve suddenly felt unable to look at anyone, and he slumped, exhausted.

"Listen to me, Cap. You need to calm down, okay? You beating up Scott isn't going to fix Natasha, and it's not going to make you feel better. Now sit."

"Sorry," Steve mumbled, obeying. He dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

 _Stupid, stupid._

He should have known better. Nat was right, Sam was. They all were. He should have slowed down and considered his options, but he just had to get in another fight. Bucky would have yelled at him for this once. But what else could he do? He wasn't going to accept Tony's half-assed, dangerous plan for registration, and he wasn't going to quit being an Avenger, so what else was there? There must have been a third option somewhere, there always was. This was his fault.

Sam showed up. Handed him a glass of water. He drank, and it didn't help cool the anger he felt. It just hurt more.

"Is she okay?" he asked quietly.

 _She can't be. It took too long, everything took too long. She's dead, Steve._

 _Stop it,_ he told himself. _Just don't._

Sam sighed and sat down. "I don't think so. All the doctors left on your orders, Steve, and Tony never was the medical expert. He's trying, but… Steve, look at me. She's gone, man, and I don't think we can get her back. I'm sorry."

All Steve's anger suddenly abandoned him, leaving him hollow, like a leftover snail shell. He stood up and brushed past Scott (who flinched; just one more thing to feel guilty about), making his way haltingly to the door that led inside.

He didn't even think about going to the medical rooms. He just got the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. Tony called it the "sleepy-time floor" because all their rooms were there.

His suite was cool and smelled vaguely musty. It'd been a while since he'd been here... things had gotten too insane for relaxation.

He dropped his shield on the carpet, tugging off his cowl, magnetic gauntlets, and boots as he went to his room to take a long shower. Peggy and Natasha, both dead within a few weeks of each other. He closed his eyes and let the hot water sting his face.

The war took second priority as they planned Nat's funeral and got her affairs in order. Everyone was subdued; there was a sense of doubt and fear: was this fight actually worth it? Steve was beginning to think it wasn't. He couldn't bear to see any more of his friends get hurt because of him. Tony had gone back to drinking (the worst thing he could do), Scott couldn't even look Steve in the eyes, Clint had gone home to be with his family, Bruce had been notified (strangely, Steve wished he would stay away), and Bucky... Steve kept trying to be there for Bucky, because try as he might, the Soldier couldn't work out what to do to help the situation.

He threw away his sketchbook. It was full of drawings of her from quiet moments on missions or candid moments of laughter, and he didn't want to look at them anymore.

"This isn't your fault, Steve," Sam kept telling him, but it felt like it was. Natasha was _gone_. He kept rounding corners in HQ, half expecting to see her lounging on a couch, laughing at him, playing with Lila and Cooper, kicking Tony's ass at poker. But every time, there was nothing but heavy, heavy silence and sad faces.

* * *

 **A/N: Because I'm a sucker for angst, I've killed off yet another Avenger in yet another Civil War fic. I think I'm trying to prepare myself for the movie, but it isn't going too well. This is technically Romanogers (from my POV), but it can be platonic if you don't prefer that ship. Enjoy the angst and feels and please leave a comment! Or kudos but I really like comments.**

 **(later note) I actually did not intend to write this when I wrote the previous chapter, Flip A Coin. So the foreshadowing in that chapter is purely coincidental.**


	3. Chapter 3: Sleepsong

Sleepsong

Steve watched Natasha in the gym working on her punches, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She knew he was watching her, of course (she always knew), but she pretended he wasn't there.

He'd been watching her for a few weeks now, honestly, and not just in the gym. It had been just over a month since Sokovia. Just over a month since the man that Natasha loved – _that shouldn't make him so angry_ – had abandoned them all. And strangely, Natasha didn't seem upset.

Steve knew Nat well enough at this point that he could tell how she was feeling on most days, and for the past few weeks he had realized that for someone whose _(lover? Boyfriend? Confidante?)_ had just left her, she was strangely calm. That probably meant that she was much more angry or sad than she was admitting, and that worried him.

"Anytime you wanna stop staring at me is fine, Rogers."

Steve blinked, his eyes refocusing. "Sorry."

Natasha had stopped hitting the punching bag and was giving him a slightly amused, slightly ironic smile. "Do you need something?"

He shrugged. "No. I was just…"

"Steve. Please don't lie to me."

He laughed humorlessly. Of course she knew something was wrong; he was bad enough at hiding his thoughts from people who _didn't_ know him well, and Nat was his best friend. "Look, Romanoff, it's not a big deal. I just zoned out and I got to thinking."

"Yeah, that would be fine," she retorted. "Except that you've been giving me strange looks for the past few weeks whenever you think I'm not paying attention. Why?"

Steve shook his head stubbornly. "It's nothing. I just worry about you, that's all." He couldn't tell her the reason; it would come across all wrong and he would sound so ignorant. It wasn't like she had an obligation to tell him what was going on in her life.

She started unwrapping her hands and walked over to him, her eyes glittering with a mixture of concern and exasperation. "Is it something I did? Really, Steve, what's wrong? You haven't been yourself lately."

"No, you didn't do anything." He sighed and turned to go, praying that she would just let it alone.

Her small, long-fingered hand wrapped around his bicep and tugged him to a stop. "Explain. Now." Then, as an afterthought, "Please."

Steve met her jungle eyes, and with a soft groan he rubbed a hand over his face. "Fine. Please don't take this the wrong way, Natasha, it's just… I thought that you'd be… more…" Oh, he felt so stupid now that he had to say it out loud. "I thought you'd be more upset than you seem to be. With Bruce gone. I mean, you and he were… I mean-"

"I understand." Natasha's expression was inscrutable. "Rogers, you should know by now that I don't show my emotions like everybody else does."

 _But I thought you might trust me_ , was what Steve thought. He dismissed that idea as selfish, however, and shrugged instead, saying, "I know, but normally I can tell. And I guess I thought since you were hiding your feelings so well that you must be really upset, so I was worried."

Her eyes flashed and she crossed her arms. "So you decided to start avoiding me, is that it, Steve? You thought you could just stare at me from a distance and not have to actually interact with me?"

"I'm not-"

"Oh yes you are. You don't call me Nat anymore, which is taking it pretty far; you aren't even being subtle about it. You were worried about me, so you decided that deliberately not hanging out with me was a good move? We're friends, Steven Grant Rogers, and friends don't just avoid each other for no apparent reason."

Steve swallowed, ashamed. She was right – as usual – but it had made sense at the time. It still did, really. He loved her _(it felt as if he always had, but once again he'd waited till too late to say anything)_ and he wasn't going to get in the way of her and Bruce's relationship. He'd backed off for his sake as much as theirs. Everyone involved would just get hurt if he told Natasha how he felt, and it wasn't as if she felt the same. He didn't deserve her, not by a long shot, with his emotional baggage and PTSD and nightmares and self-loathing and pain. She didn't need to deal with all that. No one did but him; it was his problem.

How was he supposed to explain all that to her without bringing that up or lying? Why did he always get himself in these kind of situations?

"It isn't your fault," he began, lamely.

She snorted, unimpressed.

"I've just been worrying about Bucky, and looking for him. It's been keeping me busy." A good enough excuse by most standards, but not good enough for Natasha Romanoff.

She scowled at him, shaking her head. "Steve, please. Stop lying to me."

"Natasha, I can't explain, alright? I can't. It's not… it's not something I want to talk about."

 _Please just let it go._

"Why are you avoiding me?" Her eyes were intense, blazing green fire, daring him to answer. Ordering him to answer. In contrast, her voice was gentle and soothing.

He hesitated, then threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "You wanna know, Romanoff? Okay. It's because I was worried about getting in the way. Messing up you and Banner's relationship."

She blinked at him, and for just a minute he thought she hadn't realized, still didn't know-

"You... You were..." She seemed at a loss for words, for once. "God, Steve."

Yeah, she knew. Steve straightened. He might as well tell her the truth now. He didn't have a choice, and maybe then she would understand. "I'm sorry, Nat. I was hoping you wouldn't figure it out and I could just bow out quietly. I mean, you and Banner liked each other and I didn't want to make it awkward by telling you, but it didn't quite work. I just couldn't do it, pretend it was all good and fine when I- well. Anyway, now you know. Please tell me you understand."

She stepped closer to him, eyes wide. "Rogers, what the hell?"

He blinked. "Um, I don't-"

"You couldn't tell me? You couldn't just..." She shut her eyes tight, letting out a tired sigh. "You're avoiding me because of a schoolboy crush? I thought you were tougher than that. Honestly, we-"

"No." He bit out the word like a curse. "I love you."

She stared at him, frozen, her expression vulnerable for just a moment. Then she seemed to shut down, pulling away. "You can't say that to me, Steve."

He started to apologize, but she wasn't done yet.

"I'm no good for you. You know better than most people what kind of woman I am, what I do. We aren't... We aren't compatible. I gave you an out, you damn idiot!" She was angry now, stabbing her finger at his chest. "Banner and I were happy enough. Two monsters, the perfect match. You could've picked anyone. You could have taken the out, but no, you daft, stupid, stubborn ass, you just had to be you and-"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, what he thought he was hearing. Tentatively, he reached out and took her by the arms, tugging her up against his chest before he could second-guess himself. She paused in her tirade, glancing at his lips. He bit his own bottom lip nervously.

"May I?"

She didn't even answer him; with a breathless laugh she took his face in her hands and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him and _oh lord_. He didn't know what to do with his hands at first, but then he reached up and pulled the rubber band out of her hair, burying his fingers in her bright red curls and that was right. He deepened the kiss and that was right too. She was right. She was _perfect._

Natasha moved away first, somewhat breathless, and Steve was tempted to cheer. She tried for a smirk, although she still looked a little stunned. Steve knew how she felt; he hadn't expected any of that either.

"Second kiss since 1945?" she snarked, laughing quietly.

He snorted. "Shut up."

"No, no, it was a lot better that time."

"Practice makes perfect," he hummed, and bent to kiss her again.

* * *

 **A/N: I just want this to happen. Can this happen? No? Okay.**


	4. Chapter 4: The Ways I Love You

The Ways I Love You

 **Philia, Deep Friendship: concerns the deep comradely friendship that develops between brothers in arms who have fought side by side on the battlefield; is about showing loyalty to your friends, sacrificing for them, and sharing your emotions with them.**

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

Steve smiled sleepily and pulled the covers over to the side so that Natasha could lay down next to him. She hesitated, then lay down and curled up next to him. After a moment, he wrapped one arm around her waist and tugged her closer.

"Bad dreams?" he asked.

"No." She shrugged. "Just couldn't sleep."

He nodded. He knew how that felt, the fear that if he closed his eyes he'd be back in the war. So he held Natasha close and promised, silently, to be there for her whenever she needed him.

"Thanks, Steve," she said, almost as if she'd heard his thoughts.

"Any time."

 **Ludus, Playful Love: referred to the affection between children or young lovers; dancing may be the ultimate ludic activity.**

"Hasn't anyone taught you how to dance?" Natasha asked.

Steve was clearly reluctant to answer, but his red cheeks and shuffling feet made it obvious that no one had. "I was waiting," he explained, shrugging sheepishly, "for the right partner. Maybe that sounds silly, but I wanted it to be special. I was going to dance with… with Peggy. We made a date, but that was while I was falling, and once I woke up… I didn't want to learn then. It would have hurt too much."

Natasha frowned, sympathetic. "We can just skip it, if you want," she suggested.

"No." Steve smiled at her, and she could see hope and sorrow in his blue eyes. "I need to learn, and I'd like it if you were the one to teach me."

Natasha was disconcerted to feel a flutter in her stomach, like nervous excitement. She shook herself mentally. _Now is not the time to develop a silly crush_ , she admonished herself. "Alright then, Steven Grant Rogers. I'll teach you how to waltz."

He grinned at her excitedly, and she couldn't help but smile back.

 **Agape, Unconditional Love:** **perhaps the most radical kind of love is agape, or "selfless love"; C.S. Lewis referred to it as "gift love" because it is often not deserved.**

When he woke up, she was gone. He couldn't believe it at first; why would she desert him in the middle of a mission? But then, they'd talked about things last night that had probably made her nervous. He knew how she felt about herself, about his love for her. So really, he shouldn't be surprised. All she'd left was her sleeping bag and her StarkPad. He'd been avoiding looking at the tablet, knowing that she'd probably left it for a reason. A message, probably. However, after two hours of waiting in vain for her to come back, he finally picked up the device.

"Swipe to open."

He did.

There was no message, but there was a dark blue background. SHIELD logo. The words "Romanova, Natalia Alianovna" in black font. Her file, Steve realized. She wanted him to read her file.

He swiped left to open it.

The file was full of case after case after case of murder and seduction. Missions completed by the Black Widow. Steve couldn't help the sick feeling in his stomach as he looked at the pictures and read the descriptions, and he struggled to reconcile this woman who was Russia's deadliest assassin with the Natasha he knew.

When he finished reading through the missions she'd been responsible for, the file addressed her training. How she'd been recruited when she was only nine years old for the Black Widow program and been taught how to dance. How the program was highly competitive and forced the girls to hurt and sometimes kill each other. How the Winter Soldier had been loaned to the Red Room to train the girls ( _why had she never mentioned that?_ ) and how he and Natalia had turned out to be a good team. How the Red Room had injected Natasha with the serum that made her strong but also unable to have children. By the time he finished, he realized he was crying. Crying for little Natalia Alianovna and the life that she never got to live.

No wonder she thought he shouldn't love her. She had an incredibly painful, bloody past. And yeah, he could even understand why she would think that he would hate her after reading all that. But he wasn't even angry. Just sad. And worried. He had to find her and tell her that it was alright, that he understood.

Really, when he thought about it, it was easy to tell where she was. He stood up, tucked her StarkPad back into her sleeping bag, bundled it up so he could carry it with him, and slung his shield onto his back. She wouldn't have gone far, and her file had listed her safe houses. She had one just a mile away.

The house was little more than a shack in the middle of nowhere, rundown and probably in danger of collapse. Steve approached it cautiously, since there could very well be traps in place. Thankfully, he made it to the door without incident.

He lifted one hand.

And knocked.

At first, there was no response, but then Natasha opened the door. Her eyes were guarded, wary, like a stray cat's. She'd apparently been crying.

"Hi," he said, smiling slightly.

She nodded and stepped aside so he could come in. He handed her the rolled up sleeping bag and stood just inside, somewhat unsure of himself.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

He nodded. He wanted to kiss her, which might have been a strange thing to want under the circumstances, but he didn't know how to do this.

"You read it?"

"Yeah." He swallowed, feeling nervous, and scuffed his foot against the floor. "I don't know how to do this, Nat. Sorry. I'm useless at words. So I guess I just mean… I'm sorry about everything that happened to you." _Be careful now, Rogers. A lot depends on this._ "And I wish it could have happened to me instead. It isn't fair, what they did to you. But what I mean to say is, it doesn't matter. What you did, it doesn't matter. I'm not… I don't have a right to judge you, and I know the real you anyway. Who you are now, that's the real you. And I love you, Natasha Romanoff. And I don't care what you've done, not really."

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears. She looked so torn. "I'd like to believe that, Steve. Really." She shook her head. "But even you can't be that perfect."

He laughed. "I'm not perfect, Natasha. If I was, I don't think I would be able to say any of that. Look at me." He cupped her chin in his hand, gently tilting her face up towards his so he could meet her eyes. "I mean it. I don't care what you've done. I love you, Nat, and that's not going to change. I promise."

She closed her eyes, and a single tears traced its way down her cheek. He sighed and pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. He could feel her crying against his chest, and he held onto her as if he could put all her broken pieces back together. "I love you, Nat," he murmured. "I love you so much, okay?"

They stood there in the rundown safe house, rocking back and forth and crying, holding each other because they needed to be close.

* * *

 **A/N: Essentially The Four Loves; there're several Greek types of love but philia, eros, agape, and ludos are the main ones.**

 **I did not write about eros because I don't do smut or sex or anything like that.**


	5. Chapter 5: Stained Glass

Natasha hesitated at the church doors, trying to decide whether or not to go in.

No one else was in there, she knew. No one but Steve.

The service had been nice, although the little chapel was drafty and cold. At the start of the funeral she had been uncomfortable; she didn't frequent churches and didn't exactly know how she was supposed to act. However, she ignored that, trying to be there for Steve, who had withdrawn into himself more than usual.

Shortly after the burial, she had noticed him slip away, back in the direction of the chapel. As soon as she could get away (she had paused to offer a spy's comfort to Agent 13), she made her way down through the cemetery to the church.

She put her hand on the door handle, second-guessed herself, took her hand away. Would Steve even want her there? She knew how private he was, particularly about his pain. He was too selfless, which was never something she would have thought possible, but then Steve seemed to make a habit out of defying the norm.

After a moment further of hesitation, she sighed and pulled the door open.

Her heels thumped quietly on the carpet of the small foyer, and she hesitated yet again before climbing the small set of stairs that would take her to the sanctuary.

Steve was leaning back against one of the pews, hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks, staring dejectedly at the floor. Fragments of rainbow light from the stained glass windows colored his face and suit.

She walked slowly towards him, trying to work out how to proceed. He didn't move, although she was sure he knew she was there.

He looked so, so tired: his shoulders sagging, his posture slumped and defeated, his face suddenly lined and grim.

"Hey," she said quietly. The vaulted sanctuary echoed her words softly back at her, and she felt unreasonably intimidated.

He glanced up, gave her a crooked half-smile. His ocean eyes had turned the same soft grey as the rain. "Hi."

She moved over to lean against a pew next to him, facing a window that depicted a cross with lilies and a purple sash draped about it. "I'm sorry," she said. She'd said it before, but she didn't know what else to say.

He nodded, returning his gaze to the aisle floor. He wasn't pulling away, which she was grateful for. He distanced himself from almost everyone, and even for herself and Sam it was difficult to get an honest admission of emotion out of him.

She'd been keeping herself from interacting with him too much (for his sake as much as her own), but she couldn't today. It wouldn't be fair. He needed her.

She could almost see the emotions flickering in front of his weary eyes, and she didn't know what to do to comfort him. For a moment, she thought that coming into the chapel had been an awful idea after all.

Then Steve, speaking slowly and hesitantly as if he was forcing out each word, said, "She was the only thing I had left from… from before." He glanced up, meeting Nat's eyes, as if to gauge her reaction. She nodded. "I mean, Bucky's alive, but…" He shrugged eloquently. "You know how that turned out. I just…" He ran a hand through his damp hair. He was silent for a long time, thinking. Nat just waited for him to order his thoughts. "I loved her," he finally said, simply. His mouth twisted in a wry, pained smile.

Natasha's heart ached for him.

"And I outlived her, and by rights I shouldn't have, and I… I'm tired of losing everything," he said, so low she almost missed it. He took his hands out of his pockets, fidgeting, frustrated. "I'm so tired of it."

She nodded slowly. She realized, with a pang, that her avoidance of him couldn't have been helpful. Even when she was trying to do the right thing, it seemed that she hurt him. "It isn't your fault."

"I almost wish it was," he ground out. "I can't do anything, I can't…" He closed his eyes tight and shook his head. "I couldn't catch Bucky, I couldn't save myself from crashing the Valkyrie, I got woken up here and I couldn't control that either, I couldn't tell Hydra was in SHIELD, I can't find Bucky now, I couldn't help Peggy with her dementia because she was old and I just…" His voice rose as he spoke until he remembered himself and bit his words short. "I'm tired of being helpless."

Natasha stepped closer so she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his eyes. She tentatively reached out, touched his hand.

 _Back off, Romanoff._

But she didn't want to.

"Steve, she had a good, full life. I'm sorry you couldn't be part of it, I'm sorry… I'm sorry about everything." She knew that part of what she'd said had been repeated over and over again at Steve (of course Peggy had a good life) but all the same, she thought he could stand to hear it from someone he knew he could trust.

 _Is that really who you are to him, Natasha?_

Yeah, actually, it was.

The faint light filtered through the stained-glass windows, painting a watery cross on the tops of the pews.

"Thanks, Nat. I'm sorry too. You didn't need to hear all that, you-"

"Steve." She smiled a little at him, exasperated. "You don't always have to be the strong one."

"Yeah, Sam keeps telling me that."

"You're too stubborn and selfless," she teased. "Stop being perfect."

He raised an eyebrow at her, amused despite himself. "Are you flirting, Romanoff?"

She laughed, then stopped short. Reprimanded herself. "No," she said lightly. "Just trying to make you feel better."

He nodded. "Thanks."

After a moment's thought, she moved closer and slipped her arms around him. She didn't normally initiate hugs, particularly with him, but she knew he needed it. And if she was honest, she did too.

"Thanks," he said again. She felt him take a breath, sensed that he was about to say something, but he never did. Instead he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled away. "I should probably go" he gestured vaguely, tired again "give my condolences to people and stuff."

She stopped him, straightened his tie and suit lapels.

He nodded, another thank you.

Then he walked out.

She didn't leave right away, instead sitting down in one of the pews and staring around the tiny chapel.

Wishing they hadn't had to come here and spoil it's beauty with a funeral.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Based off that tiny little clip from the new trailers and stuff when Natasha is walking down in the aisle in a church and Steve's standing there sad.**

 **Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6: Swans and Pens

Swans and Pens

Steve hadn't moved in almost fifteen minutes, mesmerized. He was supposed to be training, but he hadn't even entered the gym yet. To be fair, he had a good reason.

Natasha was dancing.

In her black leggings and blue shirt, with the strains of a rippling symphony playing, she looked happy. Peaceful. Steve had almost never seen her so relaxed, or so beautiful, graceful and sleek and perfect. He knew he should probably stop watching, but he didn't _want_ to.

He stood in place for another five minutes before reprimanding himself severely and going back to his suite. She was going to be the death of him, almost certainly.

Still, there were worse ways to go.

He had an old-looking chest in his suite where he kept his art supplies (of which he had a staggering amount). Oil and chalk pastels, charcoal, pencils, pens, markers, colored pencils, clay, paintbrushes, paint, ink. He dug through them, retrieving his sketchbook from the bottom of the chest, and selecting a few pencils, a thin black pen, and his watercolors, then retreated into his room.

Natasha was always highly amused by the way he would sit on his bed, blankets, sheets and pillows piled around him like a small fortress, to read or sketch or watch movies. She told him it made him look like a little boy. It made him feel warm and comfortable, though, so he didn't mind her laughing.

Laying out his supplies within reach (with his paint and water on the bedside table), he started sketching Natasha. He'd drawn her a few times before, usually asleep or fighting, but he wanted this to be different. Better.

The first few sketches he tried just weren't right. Too stiff, too still. He stopped trying to draw accurately, letting his hand move almost on its own, remembering the smoothness of her movements. When he finished the line drawing, he opened his watercolors and started splashing color onto the paper, red for her hair, bleeding outside the lines, red for her lips, green for her eyes. Then bright blue and rich green for her clothes. They were supposed to be just pants and a shirt, but eventually he'd painted almost the whole page, leaving just her face without color. He added splotches of other colors, giving her a bit of a dress, blacks and purples and darker blues. He didn't even notice Nat walking into his room.

He finally looked up, just as he was adding hints of yellow to painting-Natasha's hair, when she sat down on his bed. They had keys to each other's rooms, so Natasha had a tendency to walk in at any given hour to say hello.

"That's pretty."

Steve smiled sheepishly and tried to scoot the sketchbook out of sight, since he couldn't close it. "Thanks."

"You were watching me, then?" Nat slid over closer to him and stole his drawing, being careful not to smudge the paint.

Steve cleared his throat. "Well, yeah. I was going to exercise, and you were in there, so I didn't go in…" He coughed, awkwardly, realizing how that probably came across. If he had just turned straight around and left, he wouldn't be painting her.

Nat's eyes glinted, and she moved even closer to him, getting in his personal space and smirking. "That's real sweet of you, Rogers."

Steve rolled his eyes, cleared his throat. Shrugged. "I know. When did you learn to dance?"

"It was part of my training," she explained. "To make us strong, disciplined, graceful. The flexibility certainly didn't hurt, either. I was one of the girls who actually loved it." She closed her eyes. "I loved the dancing and the music and the stage… But then I grew up. And I didn't dance again, except as a cover, for years." She smiled a little, remembering. "The vision Wanda gave me brought all that back. And it wasn't a good memory, but I guess I just wanted to have the dancing again. So I started practicing and reminding myself of all the steps. That's what I was doing, just now. Trying to remember Swan Lake."

Steve smiled and put away his art supplies, retrieving his sketchbook from her. "How did it go?"

"Well…" Natasha got up, stretching briefly. "How about I show you?"

Vaguely, Steve thought that he was most definitely not going to survive this. However, he didn't say that. "Sounds good."

At first, Steve felt uncomfortable, just sitting there on his bed while Natasha took out her StarkPhone and started up her music. But, inevitably, he got caught up watching her dance. The whole situation was a little strange, maybe, but it felt right. Nat seemed to have forgotten that he was there, her eyes closed as she moved. Steve was almost sure that she was making up the dance as she went along, because everything about what she was doing was so _her_.

He reached for his sketchbook and pen, tearing out the still-wet painting from earlier so he had a fresh page to work on. He wasn't sure what he was trying to do, but he started drawing her, almost without looking down at the page, trying once again to capture her movements on paper.

She looked so happy. She was never this happy, not even with him. He swallowed back a lump in his throat. She was letting him see this, something important to her. On an impulse, he paused his drawing to climb out of the bed, going over to her. She stopped dancing for a moment, standing on relevẻ, meeting his eyes.

"Thank you," he said, because that was all he could think to say. _Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for loving me._

She smiled and relaxed, coming back to the ground. "Dance with me?" she asked, and Steve pulled her close, his hands on her waist. They swayed back and forth to Natasha's music, the floor creaking lightly under their bare feet.

Steve's sketchbook stayed open, abandoned on the bed. A dozen drawings of Natasha twirled across the page, little pieces of her dance frozen in time. Steve's black artist's pen trembled on the edge of the book where he'd dropped it, threatening to fall.

But it never did.

* * *

 **A/N: I wrote this a while back and then totally forgot to publish it. *shakes head* Anyway, here it is.**

 **Please review!**


	7. Chapter 7: I Hate You, Rogers

I Hate You, Rogers

Steve hadn't actually intended to find out that Natasha was ticklish. They'd been watching Batman Begins, and he was, quite frankly, bored and irritated. So he'd reached over and started poking Natasha in the shoulder and side to get her attention.

To his surprise, she snorted a laugh and pulled away.

So from that day on, whenever she wasn't paying attention, he'd come behind her and tickle her sides, which invariably earned him an elbow in the ribs and an exasperated " _Stop it_ , Rogers!"

Normally this silliness was abandoned when they were on missions, for obvious reasons. However, after one particular job (which turned out to be a bust and was therefore a massive waste of time) Natasha was in a bad mood because she was low on sleep and Steve was equally grumpy because he was hungry. They were lounging around their hotel room and eating cereal and basically doing nothing for a few hours.

Natasha started things this time, although it was technically Steve's fault. He was stretched out on his back on the floor with his arms behind his head and his eyes scrunched closed, and he made far too tempting of a target.

Nat scooted closer and attacked his stomach before he had any idea what was happening.

"Nat!" he spluttered, eyes flying open. He rolled over and sat up, batting her hands away. He was frowning, but she could tell he wasn't really mad. Unfortunately, it was also obvious that he wasn't nearly as ticklish as her. A second later he was grinning that shit-eating grin that she knew meant trouble, and she jumped up, retreating so that the hotel coffee table was between them.

"Don't you dare," she warned, pointing at him threateningly.

He just smirked at her, maneuvering around the table. She followed his movements, then made a break for one of the bedrooms. Steve caught up to her just before she could close the door, and not for the first time Natasha mentally complained about the unfairness of super soldier muscles.

She yelped as he pulled her back into the living room, tickling her the whole way. Between fits of very girlish giggles, she informed him that she was going to kill him. He just kept tickling her as she tried, unsuccessfully, to twist out of his grip.

Laughter made her clumsy and wobbly. "Steve, stop!" she pleaded, although she was smiling and laughing still, so it wasn't all that convincing.

"Not till you say please," he teased, and she would have punched him but she could barely breathe.

He finally let her go when she started crying because she was laughing so hard. He was chuckling himself, and the second she was free she stuck up her middle finger at him and collapsed on the couch.

"I hate you," she managed between deep breaths.

"No you don't," he answered, winking.

"I really, really do." She tried to smooth her hair out of her face. "That was not fair."

He snorted and flopped down next to her, and she eyed him warily. "If you start tickling me again, Rogers, so help me…"

He shook his head, still smiling broadly. "No more tickling. Scout's honor."

"You were never a Boy Scout," she retorted.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "So?"

Natasha huffed, mock-irritated. "Go away. I'm not talking to you." She drew her legs up to her chest and gave him a fierce scowl.

He just rolled his eyes at her and got up to get her a glass of water.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Little prompt-fill for always-a-marvel-addict on Tumblr. Established-relationship fluff.**


	8. Chapter 8: Captain Who?

Captain Who?

Natasha sat comfortably on her couch with a bowl of chicken fried rice and turned on her TV. "Friday, make sure the door is locked and then put on Doctor Who, please," she said.

"Which episode, Agent Romanoff?" Friday asked.

Natasha shrugged. "Whichever one comes next that I haven't seen."

The TV screen lit up with the opening scene of the episode, and Natasha pulled her soft afghan up around her legs and waist, getting comfortable.

Doctor Who was her guilty pleasure, and she was currently almost done with the latest season.

As the theme song began playing, she heard her front door open.

"Friday, turn it off!"

The TV went dark.

Steve walked in, hands in his pockets, looking oddly awkward.

"How did you get in?" Natasha demanded.

He held up one hand, showing her a keycard. "You gave me a key, remember? You want Friday to keep everyone out, you gotta tell her. She's not as intuitive as JARVIS."

Natasha nodded and took a bite of rice. "So what's up?" she asked innocently.

He hesitated, glanced behind him. "Um... Was that... Doctor Who?"

She looked down sheepishly. "Yeah."

When she looked back up, he had a suppressed look of excitement on his face. "I like that show," he said, moving to sit by her on the couch.

Natasha grinned. "Wanna watch with me?"

"Sure!"

She scooted over to him so they could share the blanket. "Friday, go ahead and put it back on."

The theme resumed, and a moment later the title flashed across the screen and Steve exclaimed, "Oh, it's Heaven Sent! This one's really good."

From that moment on he was fairly quiet, except for laughter and the occasional sigh. However, from his expression, Natasha could tell he was enjoying himself.

The episode was, as Steve had said, very good. Natasha thought it was one of her favorites so far. She had Friday flip off the TV as the credits rolled, and then she rotated to face Steve a bit more.

"So… That was a bit sad."

"I know. I love it though."

"Oh, you love it?" Nat teased.

He started to reply, obviously embarrassed.

"You huge nerd," she said, smacking him. "I love it too. What was your favorite part?"

"The montage when he's breaking the diamond," Steve answered.

"Mine too. I loved it. It was sad though… Every time he got there he remembered doing it for billions of years every day over and over again. One hell of a bird is right."

Steve nodded emphatically. "It would be horrible. Although it's even sadder once you see the next episode."

Natasha smacked him again. "No spoilers!"

"I'm not!"

They spent the next hour or so discussing the show, and Natasha was delighted to find that Steve was just as obsessed with it as her; he admitted sheepishly that he had a Tumblr. "No one knows it's me," he said, grinning. "I just post a lot of Doctor Who stuff and stories about what Tony does every day. Everyone thinks it's fanfiction."

Natasha laughed at him, but it was actually a pretty genius idea. And it sounded fun. "Isn't Tumblr… you know, weird?"

"Yeah. But it depends on the stuff you like and who you follow, too." Steve took her empty bowl from her and carried it to her sink. "Have you ever been to Comic Con?"

She shook her head. "No. I could, probably, but we're always busy saving the world and stuff."

"Yeah. Stupid planet." Steve walked back over and leaned against the back of the couch. "Always getting attacked."

"You know, the Doctor should really come help us out," Natasha said, laughing. "He does everything with only one or two other people helping. Imagine if we'd had him in New York."

"Those aliens would've been gone a lot quicker," Steve agreed. "And we could have stayed home and napped."

…

A few years later, the two of them actually did manage to go to Comic Con together, with Steve dressed as Superman and Natasha dressed as Amy Pond. Almost no one recognized them, although there were a few joking "You look just like so-and-so!" from other fans.

They got to meet Peter Capaldi and Benedict Cumberbatch, and managed to get pictures with some of their fans without arousing suspicion.

Tony was convinced it was both the geekiest and awesome thing they'd ever done, calling it "the coup of the century" and "the best troll ever".

And Steve excitedly posted on his Tumblr how cool it was to meet Peter and Benedict, adding that he thought he saw Captain America and Black Widow there too.

Naturally, no one believed him.

* * *

 **A/N: GEEKY ROMANOGERS IS THE BEST.**

 **From a prompt from an anonymous Tumblr user: "Either something about them geeking out together or playing detective for a stupid thing. Please and thank you!"**

 **So I wrote the thing and I like it. Hope y'all enjoy!**


	9. Chapter 9: Someone Like You

Someone Like You

"Hey Steve!"

The Captain looked up, eyebrows raised. The veterans he was chatting with fell silent.

Sam gestured in the direction of the bar. "Would you mind grabbing me a drink?"

"Sure. What do you want?"

"Just get me a beer."

Steve nodded and pushed himself up off the comfortable couch he was sitting on, easing his way past a group of well-dressed people who were talking to Tony. He hurried down the stairs, glad to take a break from the somber conversation he'd been having to talk to Natasha.

Reaching the bottom of the steps, however, he saw Bruce talking to her by the bar, so he hung back and waited for her to have a free minute.

The longer he stood there, however, the more uncomfortable he grew.

Nat was smirking, giving Bruce that little teasing, flirtatious smile that he'd seen so many times himself. He couldn't hear everything she was saying, but what he caught made his chest tighten.

"All the people I know are fighters. And then here comes this guy, who spends his life running away from the fight because he knows he'll win."

Steve crossed his arms and looked down at the floor. He felt a bit bad for listening in, but equally, he wanted to barge in and interrupt. Stop the conversation there.

Bruce stammered out something in reply; Steve tightened his hands into fists and closed his eyes.

He'd been stupid to think Nat seriously cared about him as anything more than a friend. She flirted, but it was just how she joked around with him. He'd been even more stupid to think that somehow he was different than everyone else to her because… what? He was a super soldier? Honest, righteous Captain America? Did he honestly expect to be some kind of exception to the rule? He was a soldier, nothing unusual, nothing special.

A moment later he saw Natasha walking away from the bar, but suddenly he didn't want to talk to her anymore. Mustering all the graciousness he was capable of, he walked over to the bar, pausing to talk to Bruce, who looked ridiculously nervous.

"It's nice," he said. The scientist blinked and looked up at him with some confusion. "You and Romanoff." Romanoff. Not Natasha. Not a conscious choice, but a necessary one.

"Oh, we're not, there's no-" Bruce began, and despite his disappointment, Steve felt vaguely amused by the scientist's discomfort.

"It's okay. Nobody's breaking any bylaws," he said, smiling wryly. "But really, from maybe the world's leading expert on waiting too long… don't." (He'd waited too long for the second time in his life, and look how that turned out.) "You both deserve a win."

Which they did. Never mind that Steve wished, deep down, that this wasn't happening between them.

Bruce nodded gratefully, and Steve made his way behind the bar counter to grab Sam a beer, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking.

He made his way back up the stairs.

Handed the cold bottle to Sam.

Made excuses to the veterans he'd been talking to.

Left the party to go out on the roof and be alone.

Unfortunately, Natasha had apparently had the same idea, because she was sitting cross-legged near the edge of the building. Steve quickly turned and started to go back inside, but she'd noticed him.

"Hey Steve."

He froze, silently cursing his luck, and nodded. "Hey." He fidgeted where he stood, wondering how to get away and go back inside. He didn't want to talk to her now; not because he was angry but because it was too hard. Too hard not to say something he shouldn't.

"Coming?" she asked, casual.

He shrugged, hesitated, then strode over and sat down about four feet from her, staring out at the horizon.

"Are you okay?" she asked, stretching out one leg to lightly kick him.

He swallowed carefully and nodded. "Yeah. Just don't like crowds." He hesitated. "Saw you talking to Banner."

"Yeah… About that, Steve, I have to tell you… I think he's pretty great, but… well, what do you think? I mean, he's a coworker and we're constantly saving the world so it could get messy."

The knife in Steve's heart twisted viciously. "I think both of you are adults and you can make your own decisions," he said, a bit too stiffly. "I trust you to do what has to be done regardless."

Natasha looked at him for a long moment, thoughtful. "Okay." She looked both worried and suspicious (Steve noted, with some frustration, that he'd never be a good enough actor to fool her.) This once, however, she didn't press it, instead standing abruptly and giving him a little grin. "I should go back inside and mingle. I'm kind of responsible for Tony since Pepper's not here right now."

Steve snorted and nodded. "Alright. I'll be back in in a bit."

She walked away, and he returned his gaze to the city of New York, spread out and glittering in front of him. With a tired sigh, he rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes, trying to work out what to do. Because he realized he couldn't keep being this close to Natasha if she and Bruce were going to be in a relationship. For his sake as much as theirs, he had to back off. He hated it, but he knew he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut if things continued as they were, and equally, he didn't want Bruce having any reason to be jealous.

But for a moment, he entertained the idea of going back inside and stopping Natasha. Telling her the truth for once, just to see what happened. To get the words out there before things went too far. But he knew that wouldn't be fair to anyone involved and would only make team dynamics tense and awkward, which was dangerous. He shook his head and got up, straightening his back. He was neglecting his responsibilities out here.

…

Steve stared out at the tops of the clouds, glimmering white-silver in the sunlight, beautiful but ultimately frightening. As he listened to Tony and Natasha, he knew that they had no choice but to blow up the city. But they hadn't gotten all the civilians out, and he wasn't leaving them. They couldn't just make that choice for all those people.

He told Natasha so. "I'm not leaving this rock with one civilian on it."

"I didn't say we should leave."

He looked at her, realizing what she meant. That they'd all die too. A poor apology, maybe, but it had to be enough.

"There's worse ways to go," Nat said calmly, nodding and looking out at the clouds. "Where else am I gonna get a view like this?"

Steve stared at her. He'd never expected that anyone would suggest staying, least of all her. Not because she was selfish, but because there was no reason to, really. And yet they owed that much to the thousands they were failing. To stay with them and accept responsibility for what was happening.

He felt a sudden wave of admiration for the woman next to him and for who she'd become. Because he knew that the SHIELD agent he'd been teamed up with a couple years ago would probably never had suggested staying.

For a moment, he thought he might say something, tell her how much she meant to him, what he thought of her, but then the wind picked up and a helicarrier rose out of the clouds.

* * *

 **A/N: ANGST. WELCOME TO ANGST CITY. BECAUSE STEVE'S SAD-PUPPY-LOVE FACES ARE MAKING ME SAD.**

 **Basically I just wanted to write some sad Steve in AoU. Idk.**

 **Please review!**


	10. Chapter 10: I Forgive You

I Forgive You

Everything he did hurt someone else.

That was what Steve kept thinking, painful and accusatory, in the back of his mind. No matter how right he felt, no matter how hard he tried to do the best he could, he ended up causing pain to others.

After the war, SHIELD had come in and managed to talk the UN into working on a different way of keeping track of powered people. So for now, the Avengers had time to breathe. They used the time to work on repairing Headquarters and gathering intel on Hydra's movements.

And none of them spoke to each other.

Rhodes had died – he'd been killed, really. Tony was, understandably, furious about that, and he blamed Steve. Because it had been Bucky who shot him out of the sky.

So the team decided that for now, the Soldier would be confined to a certain part of Headquarters. Although they trusted him enough to let him have the usual commodities and comforts, it was agreed that even if they could trust him otherwise, having him near Tony would be too much of a risk for all involved.

All of this, Steve knew, was his fault. Although he kept it to himself, he was extremely discouraged and frustrated.

Tony's best friend was dead.

And Steve couldn't fix it.

This was hammered home to him repeatedly by the look on Tony's face, but it hit him hardest one particular Thursday as he was making supper.

Natasha was watching old episodes of Shark Week on the couch, and Wanda was nearby weaving something using her powers. The rest of the team was elsewhere, although Steve knew once Friday announced dinner they'd be there within minutes. He smiled faintly at the thought and checked on the consistency of his cooking pasta.

"Hey."

Steve glanced up. Tony had walked in, carrying a glass of scotch and dressed in grease-covered clothes; he had likely been working on a project in his lab. "Hi," he answered, feeling himself stiffen.

As Tony came over and sat down at one of the bar stools they kept by the kitchen counter, Steve noted that he appeared just slightly unsteady.

Was he drunk?

"You okay, Tony?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Yeah, sure," Tony said sarcastically. "I'm just great, Steve; what do you think? My best friend is dead." He slurred his words slightly, but if he was drunk, he wasn't very.

Steve nodded, looking down. "Right, yeah. Sorry. Dumb question. I just meant… I think you're kinda tipsy."

The billionaire shrugged. "Yeah, a little. What's the big deal? Am I making you feel bad?"

Steve declined to answer, turning back to the stove to stir the spaghetti sauce he was making.

"Okay, yeah, sure, don't look at me. Whatever makes you feel better, Cap," Tony snorted. Steve heard his glass being set down on the counter with a clink, and flinched.

"You didn't drink that on an empty stomach, did you?" Steve asked, glancing at him.

"Who cares? Clearly not you."

Steve gritted his teeth and looked away, stoically adding a dash of oregano to the pasta sauce.

"I get it, I mean, why does it matter who else dies as long as your precious Bucky is safe, right? You don't even care that he killed _my_ best friend. That's freaking messed up, Cap."

"Stop it, Tony," Steve said quietly, turning to face Tony again. "You're drunk. You're going to say something you regret, so why don't you sit down and I'll take that scotch for you."

"Yeah, actually," Tony said, retrieving his drink from the counter and gulping down a mouthful, "I've been wanting to say this for while, so…" He held up the scotch. "This is the only way I could because I felt bad." He snorted. " _I_ felt bad. Like _I_ did something wrong. But I didn't; this time it's on you."

Steve glanced up and noticed the women in the other room watching them carefully; he swallowed and looked back down at his cooking. "Yeah, probably," he said carefully, trying to calm the situation and avoid an argument. "But now's not a good time to talk about this, so how about we get you some water and we can discuss it tomorrow?"

Tony took a step back, shaking his head. Steve reached out and snatched the scotch out of his grasp, dumping it unceremoniously into the kitchen sink. "Look, Capsicle," Tony said, scowling at his empty hand. "You're a good guy, but you're selfish. You wanna protect your friends, fine, but not at the expense of everyone else."

Steve swallowed and simply nodded. "Okay, yeah, great. Sorry."

"Just think about that, _Captain America_ ," Tony said bitterly. "You got an American soldier killed because you couldn't see past your old friendship with Barnes to see what a threat he was. That wasn't just selfish, it was stupid. He was too dangerous to be out in the field."

Although everything else Tony had said had hurt, this struck Steve the hardest. What if he really had been wrong? Not wrong to fight, but wrong to give Bucky so much trust. Wrong to assume that he'd be able to control himself. Because Tony was right about one thing: it hadn't turned out well. Because if he was wrong, if he'd assessed things too generously, that really would rest the blame squarely on his shoulders.

He switched off the stove burners and strode out of the kitchen, not exactly sure where he was going but certain that he didn't want to be anywhere near Tony. His head was spinning. It was bad enough feeling guilty, second-guessing every decision he'd made, trying to convince himself that it really wasn't his fault… But what if it was? He started mentally examining every battle they'd been in, every confrontation. Again and again, the grim determination on Bucky's face and his ruthless style of fighting presented themselves to him.

Steve found himself stumbling into one of the conference rooms, leaning forward, hands on the table, shaking. He'd been so busy trying to help Bucky get back his memories (and being grateful for what his friend did remember) that he'd completely ignored the danger signs and unintentionally endangered his whole team.

Rhodey had died because of him.

He pulled out a chair and sank into it, dropping his face into his hands, not sure whether to rage or cry or just let the numbness take him.

He flinched as somebody put their hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Steve…" It was Natasha.

He tensed. He didn't want her there. Not now. "Don't," he murmured, not looking at her. "Just… don't."

She must have known the whole time. Known what a stupid decision he was making. He wanted to run away.

"Steve, it wasn't your fault," she said, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah, you keep saying that, and you're usually right, but this time…" He glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the top of the table. "We both know Bucky should never have been allowed to fight. I was stupid, Natasha, I just saw what I wanted to see. I-"

"Stop. It's too late to start thinking like that. You need to let it go."

"I can't. You know I can't." He closed his eyes, clenching his fists tight and pressing down against the tabletop as if to anchor himself.

"Yeah, I know you can't, Steve, and that's part of why I love you, but you have to at least try."

Steve blinked.

Straightened.

Shot Nat an almost angry look.

"What?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, her expression half teasing and half sorrowful. "Hey, you weren't listening to me."

"Why would you say that?" Steve snapped. "Why would you say that to me now, after, after…?"

"Because I mean it, Steve. Regardless of the mistakes you make. You tell me that constantly, now it's my turn to tell you. What did you expect me to do, Steve? Turn and run because you made one poor decision?"

He wasn't sure. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't this. He'd been imagining those three words coming out of her mouth for a long time, but not like this. Not when he was responsible for the death of one of their teammates and the return to alcoholism of the other. He shrugged.

She touched his cheek lightly, affectionately, still looking sad. "I'm sorry, Steve. I know it isn't easy, but you have to try to forgive yourself." She rested her head against his shoulder and threaded her fingers through his.

He shook his head. He didn't think he could. "I can try," he said reluctantly. That was all he could promise.

She squeezed his hand. "That's good enough for me."

He put his left arm around her shoulders. "I love you too."

* * *

 **A/N: This one is from a prompt from Tumblr user roaminginspiration: The first time Natasha says "I love you" to Steve - who's been waiting for it to happen for a while but yet didn't see it coming this one time.**

 **The theory in this chapter is that Brutasha and Staron never happened and that Steve and Natasha got together in Age of Ultron like they were supposed to. It was going to be a lot more fluffy and cute, but then I felt like writing some angst, so yeah...**


	11. Chapter 11: PDI

Public Displays of Indifference

Steve fidgeted uncomfortably in his suit, and Natasha tried not to laugh at him. "Would you stop?" she snorted, smacking his arm. "We're about to go out there and I will not have you scratching your neck like a middle schooler at his first dance."

He made a face at her but settled down, straightening the tailored suit one last time with a rueful sigh. "I don't want to do this," he muttered.

"I know," she answered, giving his hand a squeeze. "But we've been hiding from the public eye for a few months now and people are starting to worry."

Steve took a deep breath as Steven Colbert called out their names and alter egos, and Natasha let go of his hand and made her way out into the blinding light of the studio. There were ripples of polite applause, but she knew full well that everyone was remembering what they had read about her on the internet. The files she had dumped didn't paint a very nice picture of her.

The response as Steve walked out was considerably warmer, a fact that he noticed, if the look on his face was anything to go by. His smile was too tight and too forced, his eyes frustrated. She gave him a quiet smile from her seat by Colbert's desk, and he relaxed slightly.

"Hey, welcome, guys," the host said, smiling warmly. "It's an honor to have you here."

Natasha answered, knowing Steve would really prefer not to talk too much tonight. "Thanks for having us, Steven."

Colbert faked confusion. "Are you talking to me or him, because I... I'm not sure which Steve you want."

Her Steve cracked a small smile, while the audience laughed at the host's antics. Natasha was already sick and tired of this interview, but she grinned like Colbert had said something clever. "You, obviously."

"Oh yeah, of course." The host leaned back in his chair, gesturing expansively. "How are you both liking New York? Am I correct in believing, Captain Rogers, that you grew up here?"

Nat looked at Steve. He nodded. "Yeah. Brooklyn, actually." A few audience members cheered. "Yeah." Steve's smile grew a bit more genuine. "It was great."

"Personally, I think it would be better if we weren't staying with Stark," Natasha said, giving Steve an eye roll. The audience laughed, and Steve snorted, nodding.

"Agreed."

"Yeah, he seems like he's a bit tough to deal with," Colbert agreed, still smiling. "How are your relations with the rest of the team, Natasha, if I may ask?"

She raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression deliberately light. "What do you mean?"

"Well, since SHIELD released all its files onto the internet, it's become evident that both you and Mr. Barton have difficult pasts."

Natasha could almost feel Steve's demeanor switch from uncomfortable to defensive, but she didn't look at him. "My team is very understanding," she said smoothly. "Sometimes a little too understanding."

Then she did look at Steve; irritation was evident in his blue eyes. She knew he wanted to argue and tell her that no, he wasn't too forgiving and she was too hard on herself, but he couldn't do that here.

"So no tension or anything?"

Natasha smiled. "Not the kind you're thinking of, anyway."

Steve turned bright red and turned his gaze to the floor, and Natasha was badly tempted to wink at him, but he wanted their relationship to stay secret for now and that would be the opposite of subtle. So she simply smirked and crossed her legs.

The audience appreciated that quip, as did Colbert, who waggled his eyebrows and grinned. "Sounds interesting, Miss Romanoff. Care to share?"

"No thanks, Steven," she said. "Captain Rogers doesn't like that kind of talk."

The audience really thought that was amusing (because God forbid Captain America be anything but innocent and perfect) and applauded them. He sighed and cast Nat a "please don't" face. She shrugged at him.

"Now, I've got to be honest, as fun as this is…" Colbert began, folding his hands on his desk. "I think the majority of the people here would like to know why you both dismantled SHIELD, or Hydra, as the case may be."

Natasha and Steve shared a look, and finally he answered, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "It was a corrupt organization even before we knew Hydra had infiltrated it. It was better than most, but…" He shrugged. "They started sacrificing too many values and said they were still doing the right thing. There comes a point when the end doesn't justify the means anymore and then you're no better than the people you fight."

Quiet applause. Colbert nodded slowly. "That makes sense. So does that mean you and the other Avengers are in charge of national security now?"

"Not national security," Nat answered. "Global security. Sure, we're based in America, but our primary goal is world security. Despite our fearless leader's name," she winked "we don't actually prefer the safety of America over the safety of every other country."

"I think America still has an army," Steve said, faking bewilderment. "Right? I mean, maybe not, but I was pretty sure that the Armed Forces still had national security more or less under control."

The audience's laughter was surprised, but pleased. Nobody really expected Steve to be a sassy little shit, but then most of what people imagined about him was just propaganda and half-true historical accounts.

Most history textbooks probably didn't talk about Steve's sense of humor.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, without too many awkward questions (although Colbert asked whether Steve was a virgin, a question which he declined to answer; Natasha knew for a fact that he was) or audience disapproval. Several times Nat made some little inside joke that had Steve holding back laughter.

Once they got out from under the lights, Steve practically collapsed into the car Tony sent for them, tugging peevishly at his tie. "I am never doing that again," he grumbled.

Natasha laughed, kicking her heels off, and scooted closer to him on the back seat. She saw Happy watching them in the rearview mirror and rolled her eyes. "Sure you aren't. You were great, though."

"Yeah, but I feel like I just spent an hour with a firing squad," he groaned. "And those people weren't fair to you."

"Oh, knock it off, Rogers. Is that still bothering you?"

"Yes, it is. They were all judging you without even knowing you. Even the host."

"People do that. It doesn't bother me."

"Maybe not, but it bothers me," he retorted, fitting one arm around her.

"What are you gonna do about it, though? Beat them all up with your shield until they like me?"

"If I have to, yeah," he said, cracking a crooked smile. She laughed at him, resting her head on his shoulder. While she constantly thought that she didn't deserve his faith in her and his loyalty, there was almost nothing she was more grateful for.

* * *

 **A/N: Prompt submitted by Fightingangels2k. You wanted fluff and inside jokes, my friend... I'm afraid that I deviated somewhat from your original idea. Sorry, heh. This fic went nowhere, really.**

 **Reviews welcome!**


	12. Chapter 12: Stay

Stay

All things considered, it wasn't the worst nightmare Steve had ever had (and he'd had many). Still, he was extremely relieved when a light touch on his arm pulled him out of the mud and squalor of World War II Germany and back into his room in Avengers Tower.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. Natasha was standing by his bed, looking strangely small and exposed.

"Hey," he said, voice rough, pushing away the tangled bedcovers and sitting up. "What's wrong?" She didn't meet his eyes, and he shook off the last remnants of sleep, worried. "Nat?"

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "I'm sorry to wake you, I shouldn't-"

He swung his legs out of bed and stood up, reaching over to smooth her hair out of her face. She had tears in her eyes, he realized. "I'm fine. What is it?"

"Just…" She paused, struggling for a moment. "Can I stay with you?"

Steve wasn't sure what had prompted this, but he understood that being so vulnerable couldn't be easy for her. So he simply nodded and lay back down, pulling the covers aside for her. She joined him after a moment's hesitation, curling up on the edge of the bed with her back to him.

"Feel like talking?"

"No," she answered. Her whole body was so tense that it was shaking. Tentatively, Steve reached over and pulled her closer. She didn't resist, letting him tuck her up against his chest protectively.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She nodded, and he tightened his arm around her. She felt so small, but even like this her strength was evident. They were silent for a few minutes before Nat finally spoke again.

"Do you have nightmares?"

"Almost every night," Steve said honestly.

"Oh." She was quiet for a long time, and Steve adjusted his position so he could run his fingers through her hair, something he would probably never have done at any other time. "Do you have those dreams where you're just… overwhelmed by everyone you've killed?"

"Sort of." Usually Steve's dreams were populated with the people he'd failed, but it amounted to the same thing.

"I killed children," Nat said softly. "Mostly in the Red Room. We had to kill the other girls sometimes. And sometimes I'd be on a mission and… collateral damage, we called it." She stopped. "Too many of them, Steve. Too many people dead because of me."

His heart ached for her, and he pulled her even closer, kissing her again.

"I'm so tired. I don't know what to do anymore." Finally she rolled over to face him, leaning slightly back to look at him. In the darkness, her eyes gleamed slightly like a cat's. "I have a lot of blood on my hands, and I just can't wash it off."

Steve took those hands in his, trying to work out what to say. All he wanted to do was hold her so tightly that she would never feel alone again. "I'm sorry," he said at last. She nodded. She didn't seem able to meet his eyes anymore. "It's over now though, Nat," he continued, gently. "You've been forgiven for a long time. And you're one of the best people I know."

Her smile was ironic, bitter, amused. "Thanks, Rogers, but-"

"I mean it, Natasha. You're important to me. I trust you, and I… I don't know what I'd do without you." That was true. She and Sam had become his family, and with them he was home. Safe. He stared at her face in the dark, willing her to believe him.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed, assessing. Then, instead of answering, she curled up even smaller and buried her face in his shoulder. Steve put his arms around her, closed his eyes, and rested his chin against the top of her head. _I've got you,_ he promised silently. _I'm not letting go._

0o0o0

Steve was a solid, warm presence, all strength and understanding. Natasha kept her eyes closed, fighting the tears that threatened to spill past her closed eyelids.

She hadn't come in expecting acceptance, not really. She spent so much time passing judgment on herself that she simply assumed that everyone else did too. After all, what she'd done was terrible; it would only be fair if the others hated her for it.

But Steve, ridiculous, impossible, tender-hearted Steve, just held her and _forgave her._ It wasn't the first time anyone had, but he did it without hesitation, without even knowing everything she'd done.

"Steve?" she said quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear the catch in her voice.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He shifted slightly, and she could hear the smile in his voice as he answered. "Any time, Nat."

Then the tears did come, warm and damp on her cheeks. If Steve noticed, he didn't say anything, but his arms did tighten, protective and comforting. She bit her lip and curled in on herself even smaller, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

She was safe.

She was home.

* * *

 **A/N: A prompt from my Tumblr friend geishaveji: Romanogers + 'Don't leave me tonight'**

 **I loved this prompt because these two cuddling is my kryptonite. Add angst/hurt-comfort and I will probably love you forever.**

 **Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13: This Was My Life

**Prompt from castielgurl on Tumblr: it was long but basically Natasha was going to be put in jail after Civil War for the reasons I explain in the story, but first she wants to go say goodbye to Steve. I apologize in advance for feels; I also apologize if I've somehow screwed up Wakanda or Black Panther. I haven't actually seen Civil War yet, but tagging CIVIL WAR SPOILERS AHEAD. This one is all angst and Idk but it hurts.**

This Was My Life

After Natasha helped Steve and Bucky escape, the government had, understandably, become even more wary of her than they had been before. Because of her past service record (and her tendency to be totally unpredictable), there was talk about confiscating her weapons and retiring her from the Avengers indefinitely. At first, with Tony and the others supporting her as much as they could, it seemed likely that she would be allowed to continue fighting with them, but as the days progressed and the government officials expressed more and more concern about whether she could be trusted, she finally stopped all the argument herself. Taking the initiative, as she always did. She would step down from the team, turn in her weapons and uniform, and disappear. No more Black Widow for the government to worry about; Natasha Romanoff would go the way of Natalia Romanova and Natalie Rushman.

The others protested, as she knew they would, but she'd expected something like this when she backed Tony. Although a few members of the U.N. tried to demand that she be locked up, they were outvoted, and she was given forty-eight hours to turn in her uniform, collect her things, and get out of their hair or they would have to arrest her.

Natasha didn't really need that long, but she didn't say so, instead doing as they told her to. Tony seemed remorseful, but she dismissed his attempt at an apology.

"I knew this might happen when I joined your team, Stark," she told him. "I'm just glad they aren't putting me in the Raft."

"Are we going to know who you are?"

"No." She handed him a duffel bag full of weapons and gadgets and gear. "This part of my life is over now, and that's it. No phone calls, no letters, no emails, no encrypted messages like you got from Steve."

Tony's expression tightened in a scowl, but he didn't argue. "Why are you packing up so fast?" he asked.

She smiled a little. "There's a few people besides you guys that I need to say goodbye to, and I won't have time if I don't hurry."

"Who?"

"None of your business, Stark. And if you try tracking me when I leave to find them, I'm going to come back as an ugly, frumpy secretary and murder you."

He looked at her thoughtfully, and she could tell that he knew who it was she wanted to find, but he let out a long sigh and nodded. "Fine. No tracking. I swear."

She nodded and walked past him to get to the computers. She needed to delete all traces of herself on the Internet, a long process but a necessary one.

It wasn't until late that night that she managed to finish her preparations, using up twelve of her hours to erase herself. When she'd finished, the U.N. didn't even have files on her anymore. She was gone, like she'd never existed.

She put on an old SHIELD uniform, to be discarded at her earliest convenience. She made her way into the base hangar, avoiding anyone else who might want to ask her questions or say goodbye. She didn't want long, drawn-out farewells with anyone; best to let the Black Widow disappear quietly, as legends should.

It was fairly simple to take a quinjet (evidently Tony had had JARVIS lower security measures for her), and once it was in stealth mode she knew they couldn't track her even if they tried. She'd brought nothing with her, only the clothes she had on, her cellphone, and a small roll of cash.

She knew where Steve would be. She hadn't told anyone, because they would try to make her tell them. And no matter how right she thought she was, she wasn't going to let them take Steve or Bucky and imprison them.

She thought Steve and Bucky had probably fled to Wakanda. It made sense: T'Challa had ultimately decided that Bucky was a potential ally, not a threat, and Wakanda was sovereign in its own right, not under the jurisdiction of the United Nations. Plus, no one would think to look there because T'Challa had fought for the accords and therefore against Steve.

The flight from Avengers Headquarters to Africa took another thirteen of her hours. She switched the quinjet out of stealth mode as she entered Wakandan airspace. Before long, she received a call on the quinjet's communications system.

"Unauthorized aircraft, please state your name, country of origin, and intent."

"Natasha Romanoff, United States of America, here to see Captain Rogers."

She waited, fingers loose on the quinjet controls.

"Landing authorized. There will be men waiting to take you to see the king."

She nodded, although they couldn't see her, and flew further into the country, fascinated by her first glimpses of T'Challa's homeland. Sure enough, shortly after landing on the palace landing pad, two muscular men (obviously fighters) met her and, after checking both her and the quinjet for weapons, took her to see T'Challa.

He was reserved, as always, when he saw her, but the slightest smile curved his lips upward. "Black Widow," he said, by way of greeting. She executed a perfect ballerina's curtsy.

"King T'Challa."

"You're here to see Captain Rogers."

"Yes."

"I've promised him protection, Agent Romanoff. I can't let him go back with you."

She shook her head. "I'm not here with the UN. They aren't even tracking me. I just needed to see him."

T'Challa tilted his head to the side and studied her, his dark eyes appraising. "They'll take you to him."

Thank you." Natasha curtsied again, and the warriors who had led her into the throne room came over to escort her out. She mentally mapped the turns they took through the palace, more reflex than anything.

Steve was sitting on a terrace overlooking the jungle under the first few stars, his posture weary, defeated. The warriors left them alone, silent as the big cat their king was named after.

"Steve," she said quietly.

His head snapped up, his whole body language shifting in an instant, and he turned to face her. "Nat?" There was wariness in his voice, but relief, too. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not here on business," she said. "I just... I figured you'd come here, and I needed to see you."

The mistrust in Steve's eyes hurt. The war had ruined everything. "What's going on?" he asked.

"I..." Now that she was here, she didn't know what to do. "We aren't going to be seeing a lot of each other anymore, and I thought... I thought I'd say goodbye."

His eyes narrowed, and he stood up. His movements were careful, pained, tired. "Is everything okay?" From cautious to concerned in seconds. She didn't know how she was going to say goodbye to him, suddenly.

"Yeah."

"They aren't putting you in jail for helping me, are they?" he pressed.

"No. They talked about it, but Tony is pretty convincing."

Steve's expression fractured when she mentioned Tony, and she could see all the guilt and anger and frustration boiling in his blue eyes for a moment. Then he took a breath and nodded. "Okay. Good." He crossed his arms, looking down.

"Where are you going next? You can't stay here very long; someone will work out where you are."

He smiled wryly. "Don't know. I'm not as good at this kind of thing as you. And I'm sort of internationally famous."

"Grow a beard," Natasha said, laughing. "Nobody expects Captain America to have a beard."

He snorted and grinned, this time genuinely. "I missed you, Nat."

"I missed you too," she said honestly. "Things are really confused back home. I wish you could come back."

"We both know I can't."

"Yeah. How's Bucky?"

Steve's eyes darkened. "He's, um... He's back in cryofreeze."

Natasha didn't ask why. She just reached out and squeezed Steve's shoulder. "Sorry."

"Yeah. His choice, though."

The sky was deep blue, the light from numerous torches dancing over Steve's face. "You staying long?"

"No." She wanted to. She wanted to stay forever because she knew that once she left, she could never see Steve again. Maybe he would come back someday; the world always needed someone like Steve, although they wouldn't admit it. But Natasha was bowing out and soon she and everything that she had done and felt would be buried.

Steve nodded, and they walked inside together. It was all so easy and casual, being with him. She thought about telling him what she was doing and how this was the last time he would see her. But she knew that would spoil everything and make him feel sorry for her, so she said nothing, instead linking her arm through his and making a dumb comment about him walking like an old man.

"I'm never gonna be able to get away from those jokes, am I?" he said, chuckling.

She laughed too, fighting back a surge of bitterness. "Nope."

"I've got a really nice room here," Steve said conversationally. "Too nice, really. I keep saying I don't feel comfortable with it, but I guess it's customary, so I can't get away from it."

She grinned. "Only you would complain about having a room that's _too nice_."

He gave her a look, eyes rolling dramatically. "You say that like it's a bad thing. I'll show it to you, come on. It's ridiculous."

She snorted and followed him as he took a spiraling set of stairs up several flights. His room had a thick oak door carved with intertwining leaves and ferns, which was lavish enough to begin with, but as he pushed the door open, she couldn't help but take in a breath.

The suite really was magnificent, and she could see how Steve would feel uncomfortable. Its furnishings were the height of luxury, but not garish. She shook her head in some amazement. There was a fountain, lots of exotic plants, a full kitchen, two couches, and everything was clearly top quality. "This is gorgeous."

"Yeah, and I feel like I'm walking and sitting on money," he retorted. Natasha laughed at him, flopping down on one of the immaculate couches.

"I feel comfortable, old man Rogers," she snorted. "Don't be so stuck-up."

She imagined him sitting down with her. They would put on a movie to watch like they used to do and pretend that everything was okay. Instead, she got back up a moment later and strode into the kitchen to see if there was a bar.

There was, but no vodka, unfortunately. She poured herself a glass of white wine instead, downing it much too quickly. In an instant, there was a kind of cautious worry in Steve's eyes and she swore silently.

"You sure you're okay?" he said.

She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I might not see you for a long time, but otherwise…" She shrugged carelessly and set her glass down, casting a wishful look at the bottle. "I think… I think maybe I should go."

"It's late," Steve protested. "Flying at night is dangerous, right?"

"Not really, but thanks for asking." Natasha almost hoped he would find a reason for her to stay, but he seemed at a loss. "You can walk me out, though."

He nodded and waited for her to go first. She went, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable.

Everything felt too real, suddenly.

She was leaving.

She was never going to see him again, never going to see any of them again. Not like this, anyway.

There was an ominous lump in her throat as they went down the stairs, turned through the hallways. If Natasha was walking too slowly, who could blame her?

"What are you all going to do now?" Steve asked quietly.

"I don't know. We're just trying to get by right now. Everyone's tired."

Everyone wished the war hadn't happened. Relationships were strained, particularly between those who'd been on Steve's team and those who'd been willing to accept the accords.

They stopped to inform T'Challa that she was leaving, and then went to the massive front doors, beyond which Natasha knew was her quinjet, and, metaphorically, her new life.

"I'll miss you," Steve said softly, staring at the floor. "Maybe I'll see you the next time the world is in danger?"

She smiled, but there were tears pricking at her eyes now. "Sure, Rogers." She kicked him lightly in the shin. "I don't think you'll need me though; you've got that nurse now, right?"

He snorted, his eyes gleaming with irritation and embarrassment. "Look, that's not, that wasn't-"

"Second kiss since 1945?" she teased, hiding her misery behind every shield she could put up.

"Oh, stop," he grumbled.

Natasha took a deep breath. "Time to go. See you around, Rogers."

"Romanoff."

She turned to go, striding over to the doors. Every step hurt. As she slipped out, she glanced back and saw Steve still watching her, so she offered a wry smile and kept going.

She had about twelve and a half hours left to disappear.

So many things left undone, unsaid. She couldn't end it like this, with Steve thinking she'd be back, without telling him what he meant to her, what he'd done for her. And maybe she felt a little selfish, too, like she was owed something for everything she'd done and all the sacrifices she made. So she stopped between the quinjet and the palace. Looked back. Hesitated. Then Natasha Romanoff turned and ran back to the doors, tugging them open and sprinting down the halls, thankful that she'd remembered the way they'd come. She had to catch Steve. She wasn't sure what she'd do when she found him, but she wasn't leaving like this.

She caught up to him on the stairs. He heard her coming and spun around, a look on his face that she couldn't decipher and didn't try to because at that moment, all she wanted to do was bury her face in his shirt and breathe him in. She slammed into him, felt him stagger as she put her arms around him and held on tight. She was a child in that moment, afraid to let go because she knew, instinctually, that once she did there was no going back.

"Nat…" he said, hugging her back, his hand stroking her head soft and soothing. "Nat, hey, it's okay."

She looked up at him and she had never loved anyone so much as she loved him in that instant so she put her hand on his cheek, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. Part of her screamed that this was not okay, that she needed to calm down and think rationally, but she wanted him so bad that it hurt and she didn't know how to say "I love you".

He let out a strange little noise of surprise, but he kissed her in return, and this wasn't like the kiss on the elevator at all, this was desperate and frightened and meant something and she was crying.

He pulled away first, eyes still bright with shock, but not the rejection she had feared. There was worry there, and pity. (It was compassion, but she had to call it pity or she would start crying harder.) "What's wrong?" he asked kindly, hand still cradling her head. "Nat, what aren't you telling me?"

She shook her head mutely and looked down, and he wiped a tear off her cheek with gentle fingers.

"Natasha." He pulled her closer, combing his fingers through her hair.

"I need to stay," she said quietly.

"Okay."

"Just for tonight," she added. "Just twelve hours. Can I sleep with you, please?"

He gave her a long look, trying to work out her meaning, she laughed a bitter laugh, swiping angrily at the remaining tears. "Not like that, Rogers."

"I know." He kept looking at her. "The kiss. Did you mean it?"

"God, Steve." She shook her head. "How could I not?"

He didn't have an answer to that, and in fact simply looked more worried and confused, so she reached up again to kiss him and he met her halfway, tender and nervous.

After that they made their way up the stairs, going slow because she didn't want to let go of him, and he kept murmuring meaningless, comforting phrases to her like she was a frightened animal.

His suite was cool and safe and she kicked off her heels while he stood by, fear making his eyes dark grey-blue. "Natasha, talk to me," he said, shedding his own shoes and jacket. "What's happening?"

"I can't tell you, Steve," she said. "I can't, I just... Please don't."

He nodded and walked away, coming back with a glass of water. "Here. Why don't you have a hot shower and I'll make something to eat. Have you had dinner yet?"

She shook her head, heading for the bathroom. She could feel him watching her for a moment as she went.

The shower helped her regain control of her emotions, so that by the time she came back out into the living area she was capable of rational thought again. Steve had made soup (she felt like a child, at that, but she didn't say so), and he gave her a somewhat sheepish smile as he walked over to the couch with two bowls of food.

"Feeling better?"

"Kind of," she muttered, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Look, Steve, I'm sorry. That was reckless and unfair of me, I should have-"

"Please don't apologize," he said, holding up a hand. "I don't want you to."

She nodded and ate her soup.

When they had both finished, she got up and padded into his room, curling up on the bed fully clothed. He joined her a moment later, putting his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "You'll be okay," he said quietly. She didn't look at him, afraid to see the emotion that would undoubtedly be evident on his face.

She fell into a fitful sleep, safe but terrified in his arms.

Eleven more hours.

* * *

Steve woke up slowly, as people do when they dread the world they're waking into. At first, the emptiness of the bed was normal, nothing to wonder at, and he stretched luxuriously. A moment later he bolted upright, sadness settling over him like a blanket of snow.

Natasha was gone already. He really shouldn't have expected anything else, but he had irrationally hoped that whatever was happening wouldn't have to end. He was afraid for her, afraid of what had to be happening for her to lose control like that. Suddenly he could feel her absence like a hollow place in his chest.

Her phone was sitting on the counter, quiet and unobtrusive, but he knew she hadn't left it on accident. He picked it up and turned it on; a new message flashed on the screen. An audio recording. He unlocked the phone and tapped the message to play it.

"Hey, Steve. I guess by now you're awake and know I'm gone. I'm sorry, but I'm on a deadline and I had to go. I couldn't have said goodbye again anyway." She chuckled, a wry, pained sound. "You're probably scared that I'm going to die or something, knowing you. I'm not, at least not really. I've been ordered to disappear, so I turned in my uniform and made my arrangements. If you Google my name now, you'll find that I never existed. I've got to go be someone else; I'm done being an Avenger, done being an agent, done killing. It's about time, I guess. I'm not going to see you again, Steve, and that's why I kissed you. I hope I wasn't making a mistake; I'm assuming it was fine since you let me kiss you twice." Another laugh, this time a bit more sincere but still bitter. "Be safe, you dumbass, and try to wear baggier shirts so you look less... you know, super. And I was serious about the beard. A little facial hair goes a long way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night. Bye."

Steve replayed the message once. Twice. A third time. Then he set the phone down and sank into a chair, burying his face in his hands.

She was gone. She was gone.

"Damnit, Nat," he murmured, low and angry. He closed his eyes tight and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, so tired.

So endlessly, painfully tired.


	14. Chapter 14: Handcuffs

Handcuffs

Steve would maintain to the day he died that it was Natasha's fault, although that was not, in all honesty, true. It was actually Tony's fault, although neither of them would admit it and allow him that satisfaction.

Apparently spring-loaded handcuffs were a thing. They hadn't been before, but when Tony got bored, weird things happened.

Nat and Steve were the only people in the Tower; the others had left for various reasons (also Tony's fault, as it would later turn out). The handcuffs were sitting harmlessly on the counter, and Natasha, bored, picked them up, examining them. They were closed, so she opened them… and they both snapped shut again, one mostly harmlessly, the other around her wrist near her hand.

"Shit," she grumbled. The cuff was pinching her wrist, so she slid it down and examined it. She could probably pick it open, she just needed to get a pin of some kind.

Steve saw her walking past and gave a snort of laughter. "How the hell did that happen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She stopped and put her hands on her hips, the cuffs clanking obnoxiously. "Apparently Tony thinks snap-action handcuffs are a good idea now."

"Snap-action?"

"Yeah. They snap closed. Get the picture?" She started to go but Steve wasn't done yet.

"Seriously, Natasha? You accidentally got your hand stuck in handcuffs?"

She was in no mood for his teasing, and told him so. "Well then you come over here and try to avoid getting your wrist caught in the damn things."

He snorted but strolled over, holding out his _(muscular and attractive)_ forearm. "This is ridiculous," he said, rolling his eyes.

Natasha opened the other side of the handcuffs and help them open under his wrist. As he went to say something else, she let go.

His reflexes were just a moment too slow, and there was a painful jerk on her wrist as he tried, belatedly, to pull his hand away. "Ah, crap. Natasha!" he protested.

"See? Snap-action. Now come on, I need to get a bobby pin or something to open them."

He trailed along behind her as she took the elevator to her suite, where she had any number of tools and tricks that she could use to open the handcuffs.

It should have been simple.

But of course, Tony being Tony had decided that he wanted to play a little trick on whoever put the cuffs on because when she inserted a small pin into the keyhole and started fiddling around, she realized to her horror that it was not, in fact, a keyhole at all. It was just a small, ordinary hole in the metal.

"Damn it!" she yelped, chucking the pin across the room. "Stark!"

"What?" Steve said, his mock-irritated attitude disappearing. "Natasha, please tell me you can get us out of these things."

"Well… Probably. It's just going to require more work than I expected."

Steve stared at her in disbelief, then back at his wrist. "Oh."

The two of them hadn't spent much time together lately, a situation which Natasha blamed on Steve because it definitely wasn't her who was being withdrawn and too professional and a stuck-up dork all the time. She hadn't managed to pry an explanation out of Steve yet because he simply refused to discuss it, claiming that he wasn't avoiding her.

"So… how do we get them off?" he asked, holding up his hand.

"I'm sure Tony has some tools in his workshop that we can use," she said dismissively. "Come on."

Steve kept in step with her this time as they made their way to the elevator. They probably looked ridiculous, linked together as they were, but Natasha didn't much care.

Everything was going smoothly until the elevator doors closed and she pushed the button for the lab floor. They began to move. Everything seemed fine. That's when the elevator stopped and Friday spoke up apologetically and said, "I'm sorry, but the elevator seems to have shut down. Please stand by while I attempt to address the issue."

"What? Friday, everything here runs on the world's best power grid. Tony has a hundred different failsafes, you can't tell me the elevator just _stopped!_ "

Friday apparently could, because she didn't answer.

"Shit." Natasha sighed and ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

"What's going on?" Steve said. From his suspicious tone, Natasha figured he had some idea of what had happened but wasn't sure.

"Oh, nothing, just apparently the elevator stopped while we were in it, conveniently. Oh yeah, and this is Tony's system, which means it shouldn't be able to just stop."

"You think this was his idea?"

"Absolutely. Somebody's, anyway. Friday, let us out!"

"I'm afraid I can't, Agent Romanoff."

"Override code 32, then," Steve snapped.

"Mr. Stark has changed my override codes, Captain Rogers," the AI said. "I really am sorry."

Natasha slumped and let out a groan. "Friday, tell Tony that I'm going to skin him alive when he gets back."

"I second that," Steve added.

They stood still in awkward silence for a few minutes before Natasha decided that now was the best time to ask Steve about his avoidance of her, since he couldn't run away.

"So… Since you're stuck with me for a little while," she began. "I have to ask… What's been up with you lately?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, and he would've looked convincingly innocent except his blue eyes were too open and she could see the discomfort there. "What do you mean?"

"Like you don't know. We've barely talked lately except during training and "pass the potatoes". Are you okay? Did I do something to offend you?"

Steve blushed; it always amused her when he did because his whole face and neck turned red. "No, I just… I'm not…"

"Cut the bullshit, Rogers. You're being so obvious that Tony thought it was necessary to get us caught in an elevator to fix it."

He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the elevator. "It's not your fault, Nat."

"Yes, I know. That's why I'm talking to you about it," she snorted, ignoring his irritated look.

"You know what I mean. I'm just… look, it's embarrassing and I'd rather not explain."

She crossed her arms stubbornly and raised an eyebrow. "Do keep talking."

Steve glanced helplessly around the elevator and then lapsed into determined silence. When Natasha kept staring at him for upwards of five minutes, however, he gave a long-suffering groan and flung up his free hand. "Fine. It's stupid, but I just… I didn't know how I was supposed to act. I mean, you had Bruce, but then he left, so you were sort of disappointed and I thought you loved him and I didn't know if it would be inappropriate of me to hang out with you too much, or if you'd want me to leave you alone, and besides I…" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind. I just didn't know how to handle the situation and I panicked."

Natasha bit back a laugh, but still had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide a smile. Poor Steve, always overthinking everything and worrying about making mistakes. "Oh, Steve," she said, shaking her head fondly. "Seriously? It's fine."

"It is?"

"I'm fine. We're good. Steve, Bruce was a mission."

"What?" He blinked, confused.

"Don't get all high-and righteous on me, but Bruce was a mission. He was always a difficult one to gauge; he was unsure about his usefulness and the danger of the Hulk, so I worked out how to fix the situation. I know it wasn't very fair to him, but this is what I do."

She told herself that the relief in Steve's expression was just because he was glad he hadn't offended her. "So you and he didn't really have… anything?" he asked, carefully.

She shook her head, somewhat remorsefully. "No. I'll admit I hadn't expected him to get as attached as he did, and I feel bad about that, but I think he'll find he's better off without me."

"The elevator appears to be operational again," Friday announced just then, causing Natasha to swear under her breath, irritated, and Steve to let out a snort of laughter.

"See? That wasn't so hard," Natasha teased him as they finally walked out of the elevator and into Tony's workshop.

"Don't," Steve grumbled half-heartedly, elbowing her lightly. "You know it was stupid. I just didn't wanna talk about it."

She stuck her tongue out at him childishly, and the two of them set about cutting the cuffs off their wrists.

Tony was highly amused with himself when he came back, until his hair ended up dyed green and orange and somebody put shaving cream in his tube of toothpaste and Friday spoke only in Russian for a week.

It took Steve another four months to admit that he loved Natasha, and it took Natasha all of ten minutes to yell at him for not telling her sooner.

Not ten straight minutes, you understand; she was interrupted a few times by Steve, whose new favorite pastime appeared to be kissing her. Not that she was complaining, but honestly, sometimes you just have to let a girl yell.

* * *

 **A/N: Prompt from marvelousdorito on Tumblr: Romanogers accidentally getting handcuffed to each other when they have no way of contacting anyone for a while**

 **Everything that happened in this chapter is totally unlikely, but hey, it's funny and fluffy and crack, so sue me. ;)**


	15. Chapter 15: In A Moment of Breathless De

In A Moment of Breathless Delight

Every once in a while, Steve was struck by how beautiful Natasha was. There was question that she was gorgeous, but occasionally it just hit him hard that she was something special. Sometimes when she was fighting, sometimes when she was laughing, sometimes when she was tired and frustrated, he would look at her and it would occur to him, strong and certain, that he was incredibly glad to know her.

He didn't really know when he'd begun to love her, for certain, but the realization stood out crystal-clear in his memory forever afterwards. It wasn't a very special sort of day. Silver-grey clouds like fish scales, rain dusting the earth in misty, light drops.

It was cold out, but Steve had decided that he wanted to take a walk, the dreary weather notwithstanding. He couldn't get sick, after all, and it wasn't cold enough (he thought) to trigger his PTSD. So he put on a hoodie and sweatpants and left the Tower by himself.

He had walked about a block when he heard running footsteps behind him; Natasha, probably. He turned around, grinning. She came running up in one of his sweatshirts and a pair of tennis shoes, smiling and a bit out of breath.

"Do you have to walk so fast, Mr. Super Soldier?" she complained, punching him in the arm. She'd put her hair in a ponytail, but a few strands had already escaped the hair tie and hung loose around her face.

"I didn't know you were coming," he said with a shrug. "But I probably wouldn't have slowed down anyway."

She rolled her eyes dramatically at him, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. "You absolutely would have, you dork." Linking her arm through his, she tucked some of the loose strands of her hair behind her ears.

"Yeah, probably." He smiled and resumed walking.

The rain was so light that it didn't soak into Natasha's clothes or hair, instead collecting in silver patterns on her sweatshirt. She reminded Steve of a bird, comfortable and easy in the rain with her red hair smoothed out of her face.

It was definitely a cold day, but his sweatshirt kept him warm, and it was easy to forget how chilly his own hands were becoming when he paused to rubs Nat's frigid fingers between his.

"We should probably go back," he said, eyeing her with concern. Her cheeks were flushed bright red from the cold, but she gave him a teasing smile and started to answer and suddenly he couldn't breathe because _oh God._

 _He loved her._

When had that started? He didn't know and he didn't much care because in just that second she slotted into place in his heart like a missing puzzle piece. He missed what she was saying, too taken aback by his thoughts to focus.

"Hey, you okay?"

He mentally shook himself, unable to stop a goofy smile form spreading over his face. "Yeah, absolutely."

Nat raised an eyebrow. "You sure? Because you look a bit… drunk, or something."

"No, no, I'm good." It took all his willpower not to reach out and push her damp hair out of her face. Realizing that he was just standing there staring at her, he cleared his throat and shifted his weight. "But we really should go back to the Tower; you're gonna catch your death."

She smacked him half-heartedly but turned with him, taking his hand instead of his arm this time. Her palm was ice-cold and that worried him, but she was smiling and talking animatedly about something she was working on. Probably the accurate word to describe her appearance at the moment was bedraggled, but all Steve could think was _beautiful._

And already that realization hurt because he knew all too well that he wasn't nearly good enough for her. Still, he pushed those thoughts away for the moment and let himself imagine some kind of future with her, strangely desperate to recall every moment he'd ever spent with her and memorize them in case, somehow, he dared to forget.

In case he ever lost her.

* * *

 **A/N: From an anonymous prompt on Tumblr: "Please please please do a fanfic of Steve realizing and admiring how incredible and beautiful Natasha is like a friends to lovers sort of thing"**

 **And of course, I couldn't resist, although I've always thought that moment happened in AoU when they were talking just before the helicarrier showed up, BUT…. I love this prompt, so I've filled it. ;) Post WS, before AoU.**

 **The title is from the song "Red and Black" from Les Miserables and I thought it was appropriate.**

 **Please review, my lovelies!**


	16. Chapter 16: This Is My Choice

This Is My Choice

The world was falling apart. Steve had never seen so much destruction before, had never been so afraid that they were going to lose.

Vision was dead. Wanda was dead. Sam and Clint, too. For all he knew, Tony's injuries had killed him by now. As for Scott, Hope, and Rhodey, he had no idea where they were.

"Steve, we have to retreat!" Bucky yelled to him. His friend's face was streaked with blood, his metal arm spitting sparks.

Steve knew he was right, but he hated to back down and run. But he also knew there was no stopping Thanos; not now, not like this. So he reluctantly yelled into his comms for everyone to draw back and get away. Forget trying to regroup, it was all they could do to distance themselves from the Chitauri hordes swarming the planet.

Any retreat could only be temporary; with the power of the Infinity Stones, Thanos could always find them. It was only a matter of delaying him over and over and over again until somehow they could think of a way to stop him.

If there even was a way.

Steve was forced to consider the possibility that they couldn't win this fight. That there might be literally nothing they could do. Despair washed over him like a wave and he gritted his teeth against the weight of it.

"Thor, are you okay?" he said, grabbing the demigod's arm.

"Been better, Captain," Thor said with a grimace. There was a wide gash on his right leg. "Where are we going?"

Steve shook his head. "I don't know. Just away."

The prince of Asgard nodded, understanding turning his electric blue eyes somber. He kept moving, looking around. Bucky caught up to them, trying to wipe the blood off his face. He had several long claw marks down his forehead and cheek; a Chitauri had swiped him and then promptly been killed.

"Where is everyone?" he said, partly to Steve, partly to whoever was listening on comms.

"I'm close," T'Challa said shortly, out of breath.

"I can see you guys," Peter said, much to Steve's relief. Parker was still only a kid, too young for all this.

"Strange?" he asked.

No response. Steve hoped that didn't indicate that the sorcerer was dead. They needed him, especially now that Wanda was gone.

"Hey Cap."

Steve had gotten used to either Scott or Hope showing up without warning, so Antman's sudden greeting from his shoulder didn't startle him too much.

"You seen Hope?" Scott asked.

Steve shook his head. "Not yet."

"Damn it."

"Has anyone seen Dr. Banner?" Thor said. "It's unusual for him to be this inconspicuous for this long."

Nobody had.

Thor took off, flying low to the ground, to find them somewhere secure to take cover and rest for a little while. Bucky clapped Steve on the shoulder encouragingly. "We can do this, punk."

"Yeah," he agreed half-heartedly. He hurt all over. His shield had been utterly destroyed not long ago; the vibranium had shattered like glass under a blow from Thanos' infinity gauntlet.

Thor came back to join them a few moments later. "I found a place," he said. They adjusted their course to follow him, and he led them to a heap of rubble, underneath which was what had once been the lowest floor of a parking garage.

They made their way underneath the heaps of cement and steel and concrete, collapsing in exhaustion.

Steve leaned against one of the support columns with a groan, tugging off his gauntlets and helmet. Peter went around the group using his webbing to patch up injuries, a temporary fix but better than one would expect from spider webs. His young eyes were dark with pain and misery. Steve buried his face in his hands and fought against the tears that threatened to choke him. They couldn't do this. _He_ couldn't do this. The wars never ended, never stopped, and this one? This one wasn't one they could win. This was going to continue forever until they were all dead and he found it so hard, so hard to care.

He had tried his best, he told himself. Nobody could expect him to keep fighting against odds like these.

"Holy shit! Ma'am, are you okay?" Bucky sounded shocked. Steve looked up. A slender, terrified-looking woman had come stumbling into their hideout, face streaked with dust and blood and bruises.

He quickly pushed himself upright and hurried over. "Are you hurt? Is everything okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine." She had a rough English accent and short hair that was probably black when it wasn't covered in dust. Her eyes were brown, her skin tan and marred by dozens of scrapes and cuts.

"Here, sit down, and we'll get you fixed up, okay?" he said gently, slipping an arm around her and nodding to Peter to come help. "Everything's gonna be fine." Never mind that he didn't actually believe that anymore; he needed to keep this woman safe while possible.

"Sure it is." Something about the wry twist of the woman's lips as she spoke and her dry tone gave Steve pause. It reminded him of Natasha.

Natasha who he'd been half-hoping to see when Thanos showed up. Natasha who was a recurring figure in his dreams. Natasha who, despite all his best efforts, he'd been unable to find.

Bucky handed the woman a torn strip of cloth, apparently ripped from the inner lining of his jacket. "To clean up a bit," he explained, when she gave him a questioning look.

"Oh. Thanks." She accepted the fabric and swiped at her face and hands, not even flinching as she cleaned the grit out of some of her cuts.

Steve sighed and sat down again. Wishful thinking. It wasn't the first time he'd mistaken a random woman for his girl, although it might be the last.

He closed his eyes, brow furrowing automatically with stress and pain and exhaustion and desperation. Maybe if they fled to Australia they'd be safe for a while; that half of the world was still relatively safe. If only because Thanos hadn't gotten to it yet.

Steve glanced at the others; most of them seemed too tired to bother with the woman any more than necessary, and Steve couldn't blame them. As sorry as he felt for her, he desperately wanted to ignore her. Focus on tending to his own needs. What good would their kindness do her now? However, politeness forced him to at least attempt to make conversation with her.

"What's your name?"

She looked at him for a long moment, brown eyes appraising. Then she glanced down. "I go by Eloise."

He nodded. "Nice to meet you, Eloise." A meaningless platitude in this situation. "Where are you from?"

Another long, searching look. The woman seemed to be trying to decide what to tell him, how to answer. Then she smiled, a slow, mischievous thing. "Lately I've been saying England. Before that it was Hawaii. And before that I think I said Brooklyn."

Steve frowned, trying to work out what she meant, refusing to let himself jump to conclusions.

"But originally," and here her smile turned softer, warmer. "Originally I'm from Russia."

At that, Steve couldn't keep from hoping. Daring to imagine that this wasn't a coincidence, that this might be – after all this time – this might be Natasha.

"Oh, Steve." And there it was, her husky, American voice with its amused fondness and there was the smile he knew so well. He stared at her, feeling as if someone had just knocked all the air out of his lungs. She grinned at him and his surprise, but in her not-actually-brown eyes there was a hint of deep melancholy. "Miss me?"

Steve struggled to keep from grabbing her into his arms right then. "Natasha?" he said, tentatively, still vaguely uncertain because things like this never happened to him. Not without some kind of catch.

Thor and the others who were within hearing range looked up, stunned.

"Yeah. Guess so," she answered, quiet.

All he could think to say at that point was, "You changed your hair."

She snorted, lips curving in a teasing smile. "That's what's bothering you?"

"I don't even know how to begin to answer that," Steve retorted. Images of Nat's tearful face kept flashing in his memory, the feeling of her clinging to him like a lifeline, the sound of her voice on the recording that he'd replayed so many times that he had it memorized. "How have you been?"

She looked down. "Ordinary. Sometimes painfully so. I missed you all."

"We missed you," Bucky said, finally walking over and holding out a hand for her to shake.

Thor's booming voice broke in next. "I was worried about you. Heimdall would not tell me where you were."

T'Challa nodded to her from where he stood leaning against the wall. "Good to see you again, Natasha."

"You too, your highness," she said with a faint smile.

Steve could barely believe it was her, still. After all these years here she was. Finally. He almost couldn't bring himself to speak.

Natasha wiped her fingers on the scrap of fabric Bucky had given her and quickly removed a pair of contacts from her eyes. Jungle green glowed out at Steve, tired and nervous but so very familiar.

His Natasha.

He had closed the distance between them before he even thought, burying his face in the crook of her neck, arms tight around her waist. She smelled liked sweat and blood and concrete and, faintly, cinnamon.

"Steve," she said, quiet against his ear. She returned his embrace tentatively, hands settling light on his back as if afraid she'd hurt him. A valid concern, probably; he was a mess.

Steve could _hear_ the shit-eating grin Bucky had on his face as he spoke. "Glad you're back, for sure. Steve was moping around like a sick puppy without you."

Steve pulled away then, embarrassed, and Natasha snorted. "Somehow I doubt that," she said, glancing at Bucky and rolling her eyes.

"No, it's true," Scott cut in. "He carried your phone around everywhere, too."

"Stop, guys," Steve pleaded, burying his face in his hands. Ah, crap, now he was blushing, too.

When he dared to glance out from behind his fingers again, he avoided Natasha's gaze, instead shooting a fierce glare at Bucky and Scott. Bucky just grinned and strode away to sit against one of the support pillars and pretend he wasn't listening.

"Did you really?" Natasha asked quietly. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but even that was so familiar that it hurt.

He hesitated, looking down. "Yeah."

When he glanced back up at her, she looked so, so sad. And guilty. "I'm sorry, Steve. I didn't know you'd… I just… I had to go, and maybe I shouldn't have come to see you but I-"

"Don't." Steve shook his head. "If you hadn't and I'd just come back and you were gone… That would've been worse."

She nodded, seeming at a loss for words. It was Steve's turn to feel guilty, realizing that she was probably feeling bad for leaving when she hadn't actually had a choice. He sighed and massaged his bruised knuckles. He wasn't sure how to talk to her about everything he was thinking about: the kisses, the time she'd been gone, the civil war, basically anything to do with the way she'd said goodbye.

She'd teased him about having Sharon, but he'd never meant the kiss to be like that. Frankly he was sure what he was doing when he kissed her. She'd been there, things were hard, he appreciated her help, and (as much as he hated himself for it) a part of him had seen her as the next best thing. Not Peggy, but Peggy's niece. And he hadn't even allowed himself to consider Natasha at the time because Natasha had Bruce and that was that. So he was forced to explain to Sharon that he was sorry but he didn't feel that way towards her, a conversation which he still viewed with deep embarrassment and regret.

"Captain?" A deep British voice crackled over his comms, and he let out a sigh of relief.

"Strange," he said, smiling a little. "We were worried we lost you."

"You can't get rid of me that easily, Captain," said the sorcerer. "Where are you?" Thor answered that question, since he knew better than most of them. "I'll join you shortly."

"Man, I'm glad we didn't lose that guy," Scott said. "He's one of the few advantages we've got."

Natasha raised a questioning eyebrow.

"He's a magician," Steve answered her unspoken question. "Steven Strange. I'm not even sure how to describe what he can do."

"Ah." She nodded.

They fell into silence, and when Steve chanced to look over at Bucky, his friend gave him an irritated look and gestured at Natasha. _Talk to her,_ he mouthed.

Steve wanted to argue that he didn't know how, didn't know where to begin, but instead he swallowed and crossed his arms over his chest, as if hoping to defend himself from something. "So, um, Nat…" He stopped, thought, went on. "I think maybe we need to talk."

She nodded slowly. "Probably."

"It's just... You kind of left things… different." Steve cringed inwardly. He really wasn't doing this very well, but then this wasn't exactly a normal situation.

"You mean because we kissed," Nat said matter-of-factly.

"Amongst other things, yes," Steve managed. Frankly that wasn't even what confused him most; he'd never seen Natasha more vulnerable than he had then. He scratched irritably at a crusted scab on his left arm, and she reached out to stop him.

"What's really bothering you?"

"Hell, Natasha, I don't know! What am I supposed to say? I mean, at the time I thought you were in love with Bruce and I was trying to be okay with just being your friend and then you showed up sad for some reason and then you were sobbing and kissing me and I still wasn't sure what happened and if I was even allowed to be heartbroken that you were gone. What the hell do you expect me to say right now?"

She flinched, and he wanted to apologize because he wasn't angry with her, not really. Just tired and stressed and too happy to see her, still. "I'm sorry, Steve. I don't know, I just… I don't know."

"Forget it," he said firmly. "It's the end of the world, anyway. So maybe I'm overthinking things again."

"Probably." She moved closer to him carefully, hesitantly, and he hugged her again, closing his eyes and marveling at the feel of her in his arms because _she was back._ Really, actually here.

"Gosh, Natasha, I spent… You don't know… My God." He couldn't stop himself from kissing her forehead and nose and cheeks and hair, breathing her in. "Where the hell were you?" he murmured.

She didn't answer; she knew he didn't really want an explanation. He winced as her tight hold pressed against some of his injuries, but he didn't move away. Even the hurt felt good now that he had her back again.

"Please don't ever do that again," he said. Probably a ridiculous thing to say, but he wasn't sure he could stand losing her again.

"I won't," she promised.

"I love you," he added. He had to say it now; he had to get it out before something stopped him.

"Steve…"

"I do." He leaned back, cupping her face in his hands. "You don't have to say anything, I just needed to tell you."

She stared at him for a moment, and he tried to memorize the look on her face – a habit born out of years as an artist. Then she gently pulled his hands away from her face and leaned into him, not to kiss him but to rest her head on his collarbone and let out a long sigh. "I love you too."

Steve's heart ached so much he thought maybe it was going to stop beating. A good kind of ache, mostly: joy and excitement and relief.

Finally, then, Bucky broke the relative silence with a laugh, and when Steve looked up he punched his fist in the air a few times.

Steve rolled his eyes in irritation but couldn't stop himself from grinning.

* * *

 **A/N: This one is, obviously, a sequel to Chapter 13, "This Was My Life", because  SP12122015 and Tumblr user scarlettjohanssones wanted a reunion bit. Yes, I know the ending is still a cliffhanger. Yes, I know it's still angsty. I'm not sorry. ;)**

 **Please review! Love y'all!**


	17. Chapter 17: Green-Eyed Monster

**Civil War Spoilers (fairly minor)**

* * *

Green-Eyed Monster

Natasha hadn't meant to find out about the kiss, but she wished she never had. She'd been talking to Sharon after everything ended and the dust settled, because Sharon had more insider government information than Natasha, and the Russian assassin wasn't going to waste time hacking when she could find out what she needed to know with a few questions. In the middle of explaining something about the difficulty the UN was having with aspects of the Accords, Sharon stopped and looked down.

"Hey, Natasha, could you maybe… Could I have some advice?"

Natasha was surprised. She and Sharon weren't exactly friends; she'd always been aware of and admired Agent 13 for a long time and had occasionally sparred with her, but she didn't expect the blond woman to be comfortable enough with her to ask for advice.

"I could try to help, sure," she said carefully. "What's up?"

"Well… Nobody knows where Steve is, right?"

Natasha had her own opinion on the matter, but she wouldn't say so. Particularly after this woman had the nerve to call Rogers "Steve" as if she knew him. "Right."

"Well… Do you know if he left any sort of message for me or anything?"

 _Bozhe moi._ Natasha fought to contain a long sigh. "Why would he?" she asked, not unkindly, although she was somewhat irritated at Sharon's presumption. Why was Steve always giving women the wrong idea? Mostly it wasn't his fault, but she got a bit tired of explaining to women that no, Steve was not trying to ask you on a date, he was just being too nice. Again.

"Well…" Sharon looked down, blushing, hesitant. Not very professional, but then they weren't on duty. "He kissed me."

Natasha couldn't have been any more surprised if Sharon had said "he tackled me to the ground and tried to choke me to death."

"Excuse me, what?" she said, blinking. "He did what?" She felt vaguely sick and more than a little annoyed.

"He kissed me," Sharon reiterated. Natasha couldn't tell if her expression was more smug or happy. "I didn't expect it but I guess he didn't either, and I just… we never talked after that before he was gone."

Nat fought to keep her expression neutral. That didn't sound like Steve at all. She knew how he was about relationships, and she knew that he had never called Sharon like she'd advised, so why would he kiss her? Natasha would have thought Sharon was lying, but it was obvious that she wasn't.

"Why do you want advice from me?" she said, perhaps a little coldly. She didn't like the idea of Steve kissing anyone else, particularly not Sharon. Not that it was Sharon's fault (she was, after all, a nice person and quite pretty), but of course Steve preferred a blond all-American girl with the perfect life and upbringing to-

 _To who? You?_ Natasha berated herself. _We're not doing this. You were the one who made anything between you two impossible, so stop feeling sorry for yourself._

"Well, not advice, so much as approval. I know you're one of his best friends, so I thought you should know." If Sharon had asked for the moon Natasha would've found that easier to give her. It was one thing to tell Steve to ask Sharon out (because Natasha couldn't stand the idea of him being alone), but it was another thing entirely to stand there and here this woman flaunt her victory in Natasha's face.

"What do you need my approval for? I'm his friend, not his babysitter. And anyway, he's gone, so who cares?" Damnit. That came out far too harsh. She almost enjoyed it, seeing Sharon stiffen indignantly at her rudeness. But that wasn't fair of her, so she amended her statement. "Look. As long as Steve's happy, so am I."

Sharon didn't look convinced (she wasn't an idiot, after all), but she let it be. They went back to talking about politics.

And Natasha tried very hard not to picture Steve kissing Sharon.

Unfortunately, she didn't succeed, and therefore spent the next half hour trying to hide the fact that she desperately wanted to be anywhere but there.

The worst of it was, she couldn't even blame Sharon. Not really. She couldn't even justify her own anger without admitting the one thing she couldn't, wouldn't let herself: how she actually felt about Steve. So she nodded and smiled and ignored the helpless rage and lonely disappointment because after all, Sharon Carter certainly deserved Steve Rogers more than an ex-Soviet monster ever could.

* * *

A/N: This one's short and pretty simple. The title has a double meaning which I'm slightly proud of. It's from an Anonymous prompt on Tumblr that wanted jealous!Nat after the Staron kiss.

Please review!


	18. Chapter 18: I Hate You I Love You

**Civil War spoilers but in an AU way, soooo...**

* * *

I Hate You I Love You

Natasha thought it incredibly indicative of how her life went that her soulmate was a hopeless romantic.

Not just brainwashed by the idea of soulmates like most people. No, somehow she'd gotten stuck with one of the ones who had no delusions about the perfection of soulmate relationships but who quietly held out hope that he could win her affection.

Not likely. Natasha Romanoff didn't give a rat's ass about soulmarks or "the spark" or love or any of that nonsense.

She had a soulmark, yes, but she did her best to forget about it, blotting out the word on her shoulder blade with makeup. Some people got words, some got whole sentences. Whatever their soulmate first said to them. All she got was the word "Ma'am." Who was her soulmate anyway, an old Southern gentleman? Not that it mattered. If she ever met them, she'd do her best to forget she ever had.

SHIELD had pretty strict policies about soulmates and anything related to them, because the bond such couples shared would be a distraction in their line of work. For her, it had never been a problem; she didn't even want to find her soulmate, so most of the regulations didn't apply to her.

Learning that Clint had a soulmate had stunned her. He was one of the best agents she knew: determined, compassionate, focused. And all that with not only a soul bond but a wife and kids... She didn't know how he managed.

"The bond isn't as evil as you and SHIELD make it out to be," Clint told her once, amused, when she asked. "It can be scary, and I think it's hard for Laura, but... It's not overpowering. And she knows I'll always come home." He chuckled. "The emotions I get from her end are mostly normal ones anyway. Mom stuff."

So Natasha tried to keep her cynicism to herself around him because it was evident that his soulmate had turned out to be perfect for him. A rare circumstance, she was sure.

…

The whole idea of the Avengers was uncomfortable from the start. Natasha didn't want to work with a bunch of strangers, didn't want to have her file read by any new team member who happened along. She was a spy, not a soldier or a warrior. Clint didn't say so, but she thought he agreed with her.

Of course, once Loki actually appeared and Clint was compromised, the Avengers idea suddenly looked a lot better. Never mind that she didn't want to deal with Stark again and never mind that Captain America was a lot more impressive in history books than in his file. She could handle annoyances for the sake of the job.

Her first thought on seeing Steve Rogers was that he was a lot taller (and hotter) in person. Still, he looked young, so much younger than a war hero like himself had a right to look. He held out a hand for her to shake. "Ma'am."

Oh, Lord no. He wasn't, was he? She debated what to say, even though if he was her soulmate, all her deliberation wouldn't make a difference. She ignored his hand, returning a simple, "Hi."

From the look of genuine excitement and uncertainty on Rogers' face, it was apparent that she'd said the word that was his soulmark. She didn't touch his hand, knowing that if she did she'd be screwed.

People usually called it "the spark": it was the feeling you got when you first touched your soulmate skin to skin. It was like being zapped with a joy buzzer - or so she'd been told. Once first contact happened, a soul bond would start to form (slowly but surely), and she refused to let that happen. Least of all with Captain freaking America. She didn't need his feelings of patriotism and righteousness projected in her head.

Rogers looked slightly confused when she didn't make a move, but then again, "hi" was a pretty generic soulmark. It was probably said to him a hundred times a day. Maybe he'd pass it off as a mistake if she played it cool. So she made a teasing remark about Phil Coulson's trading cards, and his expression eased, disappointed.

She managed to pretend, for a long time, that he wasn't her soulmate. He was convinced, and they had no further occasion to touch one another (for a while, anyway). Her secret was safe, and he impressed her by being one of the few men who successfully kept his eyes on her face when they talked. She shouldn't have been surprised; of course Captain America was too much of a gentleman to ogle her. Still, it was refreshing.

All the refreshing in the world, however, couldn't keep her from being furious when Nick reassigned her to be Rogers' partner while Clint went home on leave after the Loki incident.

"Are you serious? I'm not a babysitter," she snarled, furious. "He doesn't know anything about the 21st century and I don't want to teach him!" A part of her felt guilty for being so harsh, but she didn't need to spend more time around Rogers; he was her soulmate, and she didn't want a soulmate to begin with. Imagine trying to explain that to him once, inevitably, he figured things out.

"You're the only operative I have that can keep up with him," Nick told her, short and dismissive. "And I don't trust any of my other agents to teach him everything he needs to know."

Natasha wanted to keep arguing, but Nick's mind was made up, and she knew he was right, too. Nobody could keep up with a super soldier, not really, except her and maybe Clint.

Great.

Their first meeting after that, which Natasha had scheduled to give him a few assignments (he didn't know anything about SHIELD regulations and missions, and she wasn't teaching him on the job), went about as well as could be expected.

They met in an office in the Triskelion. Rogers was dressed like an old man: checkered button-up shirt, high-waisted slacks. His only concession to modern fashion was a pair of Adidas tennis shoes.

"Agent Romanoff," he said.

"Captain Rogers." She gestured at a chair; he hedged awkwardly and then sat down. Although he had a friendly smile on his face, she could tell that he didn't want to be here and was, in fact, annoyed about something. "Since you're new to SHIELD but obviously won't be starting from the bottom," – that came out like an accusation, which she hadn't meant it to, and Rogers' jaw tightened – "I have some homework for you to do so you're more familiar with how things work here."

She slid a folder and a handbook over to him; he picked them up and flipped idly through both. The handbook was, of course, the standard SHIELD handbook, and the folder contained a few reports on her missions with Clint so he could get a practical idea of what they'd be doing.

"Every new SHIELD recruit has to read the handbook. It's boring as hell, but those are the rules, and I can't bend them. Not even for Captain America." Natasha managed a smile, because she could at least make an effort to be nice.

Rogers, however, didn't appear amused; as a matter of fact, his jaw tightened and he looked down. He was obviously irritated, but why? She hazarded a guess.

"I'm gonna go out a limb here and say you don't like people calling you Captain America," she said, raising an eyebrow.

He glanced up, and his lips twitched sideways in a tiny smile. "Not really, no."

"Alright then. Duly noted. I don't know when our first mission is going to be, so the sooner you can get all that read, the better. And about your uniform…"

She almost laughed when Rogers grimaced. "Please tell me they don't expect me to keep wearing that showgirl costume they gave me."

"No," she snorted. "Apparently the general consensus was that your Avengers uniform was too conspicuous for a spy, so they've worked up something a little more subtle and practical."

Rogers sighed, clearly relieved, and some of the tension around his eyes and jaw eased. "Thank goodness."

"I think that's all for now," Natasha said, standing. He got up as well, tucking his homework under his arm. "I'll be seeing you, Rogers."

"Agent Romanoff?" he said, stopping her.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

She nodded and let him walk past her out of the office.

Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all.

…

Their first mission together was a complete disaster. They accomplished it, sure, but it was a sloppy job that left Natasha furious. Both of them were called in to Nick's office to explain what had happened… which was a fiasco in itself.

"I was in the middle of trying to get some information out of him and Mr. Perfect here thought he needed to come in and save me like I was a damsel in distress," she snapped, long past playing objective.

Rogers, rather than apologizing or backing down, bristled and threw in his miserable two cents worth. "How was I supposed to know you were faking? Sounded pretty convincing to me, Romanoff, and you never told me what your plan was."

Natasha turned to glare at him, ignoring Nick's long-suffering sigh. "I shouldn't have had to!"

"I'm not Barton, Agent Romanoff. I've never done this before. Would it have been so hard to explain things to me before we went in?"

"I didn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities by telling you I was going to seduce him! And anyway, you would have told me not to do it if I told you he'd probably find out who I was. Because apparently you're my boss now."

Rogers' eyes were two chips of ice, disdainful and disappointed. "My 'delicate sensibilities'?" He smiled ironically. "Funny, Romanoff. I know how seduction works and I know it's your job. Believe it or not, I'm not gonna blush and get uncomfortable over it because it's how the game works. Whether I approve of it or not doesn't really affect the outcome at all. So stop playing like you know how I'm gonna react because you _don't_."

She scowled and crossed her arms, starting to answer, but Nick cut them off. "Enough! Stop squabbling like four year olds and listen up." They turned back to face the irritated Director, who leaned forward, palms on his desk, and gave them a long, piercing look with his one good eye. "You're both idiots and I don't know why I expected this to go any better. But let me be very clear: this kind of mix-up is not going to happen again. You two are gonna communicate like good partners do and you're gonna work out your shit before the next mission I send you on or you're both gonna be on probation. Understood?"

Rogers' eyes flashed but he nodded shortly. Natasha was slower to respond, still fuming (partially because she realized the stupid Captain was right, she'd jumped to too many conclusions about him), but finally she answered, "Yes sir."

They strode out of the office together, refusing to even glance at each other.

After that first mission, their relationship was rocky at best, antagonistic at worst. She had no patience when trying to teach him about technology, history, and modern things that were so second-nature to her that she didn't even know how to explain, and he clearly didn't appreciate her sardonic humor. The whole issue was complicated by the fact that she refused to touch him, which made her seem either pettier or more isolated than she actually was.

At some point, however, things got easier. Rogers was fairly intuitive on the battlefield, and never once did he say she should stay back because she was a woman. Actually, she was a bit surprised by how confident he was in her abilities; if she said she could do something, he stood back and let her. His fighting technique was virtually nonexistent; he just hit things with his shield and fists until they yielded. Given his super-strength, he could get away with it, but Natasha decided getting away with it wasn't good enough.

So she started sparring with him (a risky idea, what with the whole soulmate issue), but he never even grazed her. And she started explaining different techniques, teaching him how to fully leverage his size and strength to his advantage. He was a quick learner, which she was thankful for.

He figured out about the soulmate thing fairly quickly after she started teaching him, but it didn't go as she expected. They were sparring and he finally managed to hit her, just slightly grazing her shoulder.

The people who said it felt like a joy buzzer were wrong. Her shoulder felt hot and tingly in the place where he'd touched her and the feeling spread quickly through her whole body. The Captain stopped fighting her, understandably shocked, and with a thrill of anger and frustration, Natasha swept his legs out from under him and stormed off as he hit the mat with a grunt.

"Romanoff!" He came after her, no surprise there, and she swore under her breath. She wanted to avoid this conversation, but that wouldn't be fair to him, and even if they didn't get along very well, she owed him this talk, at least.

She stopped just outside the gym and crossed her arms stubbornly. "Okay, let's hear it. Let's hear all the reasons why this is a great thing." She rolled her hand in a "go on" gesture.

Rogers stopped, looking bewildered, annoyed, and a touch excited. "Um, actually… I was gonna ask… You knew, and you didn't say anything?"

"No, obviously I didn't," she said firmly. "And I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry."

"Okay…" He processed that, then shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Did you ever think I might wanna know? I mean, I know what the handbook says about soulmates and everything, but I thought you just hated me and that's why you wouldn't accept my help with anything."

"I do hate you," she snapped. Not fair of her, not right, but he had an uncomfortable habit of perceiving her weaknesses and addressing them, and it made her walls slam up faster than anything else. "You're too much, Rogers. I mean, really. Your most obvious character trait is patriotism, or maybe it's the stick up your butt. You're a little hard to swallow." That wasn't precisely true; she'd discovered more things about him recently that made this assessment of him shallow and cruel, but she didn't want a soulmate and she didn't want _him_ to be her soulmate.

He flinched and looked down, and she almost apologized because he looked like a kicked puppy. "Alright, sorry. I get it. Just… Couldn't you have said something anyway? If you'd just explained at the start, Nick probably wouldn't have paired us up to begin with. Saved us a lot of time."

She shook her head. "Nick knew that I… Look, it isn't about you, really. I just never wanted a soulmate and I still don't. I won't let myself be distracted by that kind of thing, and no one else could have worked with you. As long as you didn't know, you couldn't be distracted either."

"Oh." He nodded and scuffed his foot against the floor. "I guess I get it. And I don't really need a soulmate right now, so you don't have to… you don't need to… I'm fine. If you don't want anybody, then fine. I'll leave you alone about it."

Natasha was surprised that he'd backed off that easily. She had expected some kind of plea to at least give him a try. Instead, all she got was a kind of tired disappointment and civility, like Rogers had long ago given up on the idea of finding happiness with anyone. She nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. She'd been preparing for a fight, and now that he was just accepting what she had to say, she felt guilty for being so unkind. "Um, okay. Thanks."

"If you want, I can talk to Fury about giving me a different partner," he said quietly. "I'm not so hopeless with technology anymore, so at least now I wouldn't be getting in anyone's way."

Nat tamped down the guilt that pulsed even stronger with his words. "Thanks, but only if you want to," she answered. "I'm not sure anyone else can keep up with me, and besides" she hated to admit it, but she had to "the soul bond would become a serious problem."

Steve nodded. The soul bond had the pesky side effect that it made it very hard to be apart from one's soulmate… and Natasha was stuck with that now. "In that case, if it's really okay with you, I'd rather not have to switch partners now," he said carefully.

"Yeah, it's fine."

As if things weren't complicated enough before, they'd just gotten about a thousand times more awkward. Not that anything actually changed; Rogers seemed strangely unaffected by the incident, other than to perhaps become a bit more open around her. But Natasha felt as if suddenly they were both too close to each other and oceans apart. Probably because the soul bond had started manifesting slightly. She began to be aware of his emotions like they were her own, but they were also so different from hers. And that was something new altogether because there was a lot more sadness and loneliness in his life than she had ever thought anyone could feel.

When she thought about it, it made sense: he'd lost everything and everyone, only to come into a generation where people talked about him like he was a museum piece and he had to relearn everything. She gained a measure of patience as she taught him things, and when she became kinder, she discovered he wasn't as bad as she had first thought.

Being around him started to feel easier, a development which she couldn't quite blame on the soul bond because that quickly became the only thing keeping them from being comfortable together. As he got more used to modern life (and discovered emojis), he loosened up, and it turned out that he had a good sense of humor and, when he chose, enjoyed chatting about absolutely nothing. And when she started introducing him to classic and newer movies, she was highly amused to discover that he was a huge nerd. (And had been watching Doctor Who ever since the battle of New York.)

Although she herself wouldn't have noticed it, she was starting to change too, and not because of the soul bond. (That wasn't how the bond worked; its purpose was to facilitate understanding and closeness, not force change or connection. But Natasha didn't know that.) Steve Rogers accepted what she said and what she thought without questions, but at the same time he seemed to know just how to challenge her opinions without dismissing them. He was no spy, but he knew emotions, a fact that he proved in many hostage situations when he calmed hysterical civilians with a few words and perhaps a hug. So when she drew back and tried to block him out, he would persist gently and calmly until she felt herself opening up to him, explaining what she felt and why. She didn't trust easily, but she realized with no small amount of concern that somehow or other, Rogers – _Steve_ – had managed to brush past all her defenses and earned her trust without even trying.

It wasn't until her entire world collapsed that she realized just how much she'd come to rely on him.

After the Lemurian Star mission (which was supposed to be nothing major, just a cleanup job), things had seemed completely normal, other than Steve being angry with her. But that state of ease and recuperation had lasted only a few hours before Maria had called, voice wavering slightly. Nick had been shot multiple times in the chest and was in the hospital.

She hadn't driven anywhere so fast in a long time.

Nick was in surgery, and Steve was already there, sad blue eyes focused unwaveringly on the procedure. Natasha could feel her heart pounding so hard it might burst from her chest, and as she stopped by the observation window (she wanted to run into the surgery and wake Nick up herself) she had to fight to keep herself from crying outright.

Maria joined them after a moment. "Ballistics?" Nat found herself asking.

The other agent answered, and Natasha shivered when she heard, remembering a cold day, burning hot pain in her side.

They stood there for a long time, the three of them. Nick's vital signs declined steadily until he suddenly flatlined.

"Don't do this to me, Nick." She hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Steve looked away, face slack with shock and horror, as the doctors brought out the defibrillator, and Nat swallowed hard. She wasn't surprised when the Captain turned and strode a short distance away, shoulders taut.

Nick didn't recover after that and was pronounced dead a few minutes later. Natasha cried, then, silent tears leaking past her lashes, her throat aching. Nick had been one of the few constants in her life, along with Clint. Coulson had been too, but he was gone, and now so was Nick.

She went to leave the hospital, but Steve, being Steve (who always felt like he had to make sure she was okay, damn him) followed her.

"Natasha!"

She didn't want to have this discussion with him, didn't want him asking her about Nick because she was done crying and if he asked, if he gave her that empathetic look, the tears might never stop. So she spun around, turned the tables on him. "Stop it, Steve."

He did stop, in the middle of the hallway, eyebrows raised in concern.

"Just… You only care about me because of this stupid soulmate thing," she spat, venomous. She didn't mean it, and she thought maybe he knew that, but she kept talking. "That's is the only reason you stick around, right? Because you can tell what a mess I am and you feel sorry for me? Stop wasting your pity on me, Rogers. I don't want it, I can't-"

He stopped her by holding up a hand, eyes hard. "That's not how it is. I mean, yeah, I love you and I kinda wish you felt the same, but I think I would even without this stupid soul bond anyway. So don't act like I'm just in this because I'm being forced by the bond or something."

She didn't argue with him because it was true. She knew. So she did as she always did: she avoided the topic. "So why was Fury in your apartment?"

…

Kissing him had been a stupid idea, a risk she should never have taken. It made the soul bond hum like vodka in her veins, just as intoxicating and much sweeter. And Steve, poor Steve, who endured her flirting and matchmaking and teasing with grace and ease, could barely manage a response when she asked if he was still uncomfortable. Not fair of her, maybe, but it saved them. She berated herself for the choice nonetheless; she still didn't want a soulmate... or more accurately, didn't deserve one like Steven Grant Rogers

They rode in near complete silence to New Jersey, only talking when Natasha asked how he knew how to steal a car.

And then she discovered that the fresh start she'd thought she'd made joining SHIELD was nothing but another lie, going from being used by the Russians to used by the people she'd trusted. And suddenly she had nothing left anymore.

So when Steve suggested (through pantomime, mostly, because the blast had deafened her) that they drive back to Washington, D.C., to find the man he'd gone running with, Natasha had no strength to point out the flaws in that plan. She hurt all over, her ears wouldn't stop ringing, and it honestly felt as if her mind had simply shut down.

They drove for the rest of the night in another borrowed car, and Natasha phased in and out of sleep, vaguely aware of the crippling doubt and feeling of worthlessness coming from Steve's side of the soul bond. She didn't even have the energy to comfort him.

The shower she took at Sam's helped a little. The hot water did wonders to loosen her stiff muscles and clean the grime from her injuries.

She dried her hair while Steve showered, still thinking. He'd saved her. It wasn't like it was the first time, but she had never been so completely helpless around him. Never been so totally unable to save herself.

The last time she'd been at someone's mercy like that was when Clint spared her, and she owed him for that still.

Steve came out of the bathroom, his face thoughtful and tired and still somewhat dirty. In the bathroom mirror she saw his soulmark peeking out from beneath his tank top, dark black in her handwriting. The sight gave her a strange twinge of emotion that she didn't quite understand.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." The answer was reflex more than anything else. Of course she wasn't okay.

He sat down across from her on a chair. His eyes were deep green-blue, she noted. Like pools. He nudged her knee lightly. "What's going on?"

She loved that he asked her instead of using what he knew from the bond. She looked down. "When I joined SHIELD I thought I was going straight. But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra." She smirked, trying not to look too vulnerable. "I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but... I guess I can't tell the difference anymore."

Steve's smile was soft, sympathetic. "There's a chance you might be in the wrong business."

She huffed a laugh despite herself, then stopped. Nodded carefully. "I owe you." She did. For a hundred things.

He smiled, shook his head. "It's okay."

"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life," Natasha had to know, suddenly. She trusted Steve, she'd realized that long ago, but did he trust her? "And you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?"

She sensed his sincerity before he even spoke. He met her gaze unflinchingly, eyes bright. "I would now."

Natasha couldn't mask the surprise and heavy gratitude that washed over her like a breaking wave. She thought, suddenly, that she was going to cry again.

He smiled at her. "And I'm always honest."

Natasha wasn't sure what love felt like, but maybe this was it, this heavy, heavy ache in her chest and trust and need so fierce they burned. He trusted her, after everything, when maybe he shouldn't, and he didn't hesitate. She wanted to kiss him again, or maybe just hold onto him like she was a lost child and he was her safe place.

But she didn't, because she couldn't. Because love was for a little girl who thought she'd always have her parents. Love was for a foolish young woman who thought she could escape her upbringing. Love was for people who hadn't killed since they were twelve. Love certainly wasn't for her. She didn't deserve it and she didn't want it. Not again. So she made a snappy remark and hid again, under miles of pain and loneliness and Russian snow.

…

First feeling Steve's anguish and pain as he fought on the helicarrier, then seeing him in the hospital, hurt Natasha more than anything else ever had, and that frightened her. The bond made her weak, a fact which made her unreasonably angry. She didn't want to be so worried about Steve. She didn't want to be as aware of his feelings as she was of her own.

She didn't need a soulmate.

But she needed him.

Whether or not she wanted him, though, wanted the strange and compromising reality that was accepting a soulmate, didn't matter. She couldn't have him. Oh, she knew he loved her. It was obvious in his emotions, obvious in his face, his body language, his actions. But she also knew that she was toxic. Steve deserved somebody better than her, which was why even after realizing his importance to her, she kept trying to set him up with other women. It always frustrated him, but she wasn't good enough for him. She'd poison him. So she tried to stop him from pursuing her (because he would; she knew he could feel the love or whatever-it-was she felt for him) by any means necessary.

And Bruce was caught in the crossfire.

She regretted it later, using him in her private battle against Steve and her heart, but he was avoiding his soulmate too (more successfully than her), and the Hulk needed to be controlled, so she did what she thought made sense.

Even though she could feel the exact moment Steve's heart broke.

Even though it made her feel cruel and duplicitous and selfish.

She would not allow her heart to be compromised again. Never mind that it already had been.

And it stung, how all through the war with Ultron there was deep hurt and regret beating at her from Steve, although sometimes it was eclipsed by pain or anger or amusement or pure bull-headed stubbornness. And when she told Bruce about her vision and found herself back in the Red Room, hating herself for what she'd become, what she'd allowed them to make her into, it didn't surprise her much when Steve knocked on their door at Clint's farm not long after that. Natasha almost felt ashamed when she saw the look on his face; concern mixed with pain like he knew all too well that she'd just told Bruce how she felt, and not him, even though they'd been through so much together.

"Are you okay, Natasha?" he said, giving Bruce an awkward look. "I mean, I guess you probably are, it's just…" He stopped, grimaced, and shook his head. He probably had every right to mention their soul bond, but he didn't. "Those visions were intense."

"I'm fine, Rogers," she said, then amended her statement with a grimace. "Okay, I'm not. I just... I don't wanna talk about it."

Steve's expression fractured, but he forced a grin. "Okay. Sorry to interrupt you two," he said, inclining his head.

"We can talk later, maybe?" Natasha said desperately.

"Sure." He didn't look convinced. "Oh, and Romanoff... You're a great person, okay? Whatever else you think... You're one of my best friends and I trust you." She knew he was subtly trying to make her feel better, and she gave him a tiny, appreciative smile.

"Thanks."

He turned and left, and suddenly Natasha didn't know how to talk to Bruce, so she focused on doing her hair, staring at the floor.

…

She couldn't help but be relieved when Bruce abandoned them all. Not because she didn't care about him, but because she couldn't stand hurting everyone anymore. And honestly, she was tired of distancing herself from Steve. It hurt her, and not just because of the bond.

Bruce's absence didn't end up making things easier. Steve seemed to think he had to give her space, and she didn't know how to explain her confused emotions to him.

She needed him, needed whatever it was he was offering, she knew that now. But telling him was another matter entirely.

Because Steve Rogers, the boy from Brooklyn who'd managed to push his way past her defenses, the old man who was her unwanted soulmate, he was the only person she could ever trust her heart to like this.

She was so bewildered about the whole thing that she actually took a short vacation, about a year after Ultron, to visit Clint and Laura for the sole purpose of asking them for advice (and playing hide-and-seek with the kids).

"He's been your soulmate this whole time?" Clint asked after she explained, raising an eyebrow. "He knew and he left you alone?"

"Yeah."

"Holy cow, Nat. I don't know how he did it. I mean, once you fall in love with your soulmate, the bond makes it really hard not to say so. You're missing out on a keeper, Natasha."

"I know," she said quietly. "And that's why I have to talk to you guys. Because I think I'm in love with him, but I can't... He's too good for me and I don't know how to explain that I was faking it with Bruce and maybe he hates me now and I-"

"Nat." Laura's warm, gentle voice stopped her. "We've talked about this. You're a good person."

"Is that why everyone I love ends up dead or worse?" she retorted angrily. "I'm trying, Laura, but I can't put all my crap on him. He doesn't need to deal with that."

"She didn't need my crap either," Clint said with a small smile, nudging his wife. "And she's less familiar with our line of work than Steve is. He'll be fine, Natasha. He's not delicate and you said he loves you. He's not gonna run away."

Reluctantly, at Clint's prompting, Natasha promised to tell Steve she loved him – and to text the archer as soon as she did.

Unfortunately, not for the first time, things didn't go to plan. As the newly-drafted Sokovia Accords created tension between members of the team, Natasha put her plans to talk to Steve on the back burner, well aware that now was not the time to tell him how she felt.

She was glad she'd made that decision when Peggy died. The SSR agent hadn't been Steve's soulmate, but love wasn't always just between soulmates. And Natasha knew that what Steve had had with Peggy had been real, if not as intimate as a soul bond.

The funeral was cold and wet and miserable, and Natasha spent most of it frustrated with Sharon for inadvertently encouraging Steve's stubbornness. As if he wasn't already convinced he was right, Sharon's little speech just made it worse. And Natasha didn't want Steve to be more stubborn, she wanted him to do the easy thing for once. What she thought was the right thing.

She saw him leaving the graveside, head down, steps heavy. It had been the hardest thing in the world, sensing his grief throughout the service, but it was worse seeing him cry. Steve didn't cry. He hadn't even when he found out that Bucky was the Winter Soldier. Natasha excused herself from a murmured conversation with some former SSR agents and followed Steve back to the chapel, unsure what she wanted to do but knowing that it was important that he wasn't alone.

The church was empty, a fact which somewhat surprised her. She didn't know how churches worked though (particularly not after funerals), so she didn't wonder about it. She just walked into the sanctuary and over to him where he leaned against a pew. It occurred to her suddenly that he might be praying, and she hesitated, but he quickly put her mind at ease.

"Hey." He gave her a lie of a smile and she returned it half-heartedly.

"Hey. There's still room on the quinjet, if you wanna come." Why was she trying to change his mind?

"I'm not signing," he said stiffly.

"Just because this is the path of least resistance doesn't mean it's the wrong path. Staying together is more important than how we stay together." She willed him to agree with her, willed him to understand what she was saying. "The Accords aren't that bad, Steve."

"I'm sorry Nat." He looked down and shook his head. "I just… I can't."

"I know." And she did. Hell would freeze over before anyone changed Steve Rogers' mind once he'd already made a decision.

His eyes flashed, and she felt a touch of bitterness through the bond. "Well then why are you here?"

She looked down. "I didn't want you to be alone."

Steve's expression softened, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long breath. Natasha hesitated, then reached up. "Come here." He blinked, momentarily surprised, as she pulled him into a hug. The bond purred happily, and Nat had to fight not to tell him how she felt about him right there. So she pulled back, gave him a small smile, and left the church without looking back.

She'd never expected this to be so hard. The longer she spent with Tony (and the longer the government spent talking about how Steve and Bucky were dangerous and had to be brought in), the less certain she felt about all of this. The path of least resistance was proving to be a lot more difficult than she'd expected. It was only made worse when, after each new obstacle they threw in Steve's way, she could sense his reaction to it.

The airport battle was the worst. She was just glad she didn't have to fight Steve; the stakes felt different with Clint. Probably because the first chance he got (after pinning her to the tarmac), he glanced around and whispered, "Did you tell him yet? I'm gonna assume you did and it went really, really badly, because this is nuts."

She grunted and kicked him away from her, following up with a punch to his smug face. "No, I didn't because Peggy died. And anyway," she dodged his elbow and barely missed kneeing him in the crotch. "I don't think now's such a good time, do you?"

"Touché."

That was when Antman suddenly turned into elephant man and Tony's team momentarily forgot everything else in the shock of having to deal with a giant ex-convict in an ant suit.

And then Vision, with his near-unshakeable focus, stopped paying attention to Antman and shot a laser beam in the direction of the main airport buildings, sending cement and steel crashing. Natasha started running before anyone else because suddenly it made sense. A distraction, the largest distraction possible (literally), so that Steve could get himself and Bucky away in the quinjet. She should have noticed it sooner, noticed the way Steve's emotions had shifted, but the battle confused her.

She quickly climbed over the fallen rubble that Vision had used to try to stop the fugitives, dropping silently to the ground beyond it. They both heard her and turned, Bucky's eyes somewhat too blank, Steve's dark grey with weariness.

"You're not going to stop, are you?" she said, meeting his gaze.

He shook his head.

She glanced behind her; none of the others had caught up yet. They were probably still busy with Antman. She wavered, uncertain for a moment, then took a deep breath and started talking, rushed. "I know this is a bad time, Steve, and I'm sorry I never said anything sooner, but I… I love you. And I don't know anything about soulmates and I don't give a crap about destiny or perfect relationships but you're important to me and I… yeah. That's about it."

Steve stared at her, stunned. That was probably the last thing he'd been expecting to hear from her now. Then he grinned, the most boyish, excited thing she'd seen from him in a long time, and nodded acknowledgement. Nothing else happened, though, because that was when T'Challa showed up and Nat, with a long sigh, turned around and shot the king with her widow bites. She'd regret that later, probably, but for now she owed this to Steve.

…

It was almost two years before she saw him again, an absolutely gut-wrenching two years during which the bond tormented her mercilessly. She could feel his emotions and injuries, but she couldn't do a thing about them.

When the Sokovia Accords fell apart, however, (they hadn't worked well in practical use) and were replaced by a council of security experts, powered people, and ordinary civilians, she was stunned to hear his name on the list of council members.

The day after that revelation, he showed up at Avengers Headquarters, Bucky and the rest of the missing Avengers at his side. They clearly all felt nervous and awkward… except Steve, who only took time to greet Tony and offer a brief apology before he had turned to Natasha. He only paused only a moment before sweeping her up in his arms and crushing her tight against him. She laughed giddily because she'd never felt anything like the euphoric relief of seeing him again.

Her soulmate.

Her Steve.

* * *

 **A/N: Title and inspiration from Gnash's song "I Hate U I Love U". Prompt from _iavenge_ on Tumblr saying: I REALLY LOVE YOUR FICS I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT. (but hey what about some soulmate au! romanogers / could be a total au or canon divergent c: )**

 **Soooo I wrote this lovely, very AU, SUPER LONG fic. Hope you liked it!**

 **PLEASE REVIEW BECAUSE THIS TOOK FOREVER.**


	19. Chapter 19: Trust

Trust

Steve had never seen such a big warehouse in his life. It was at least twice as big as the Hydra warehouse he'd rescued Bucky from all those years ago, and it was full of rusting, twisted equipment. The floor, cracking and uneven, was rough against his bare feet; for some reason, he was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

He felt like there was something important he had to remember, but his head hurt so much, like there were pieces missing. He wished he had his shield. Why didn't he have his shield?

He didn't hear the attack coming, when he normally would have. Out of nowhere, someone dropped onto his shoulders. Only his serum-enhanced reflexes saved his life; the knife his attacker held drove into his shoulder instead of his neck. Howling in pain, he reached behind him and grabbed the arms of the person on his shoulders, jerking them over his head to throw them on the ground. They were surprisingly lightweight, and with a competent twist of their body they landed on their feet.

His opponent was a woman, but she had a mask on the lower half of her face and her hair tucked under a black cap. Her eyes flashed at him, angry and amused, and Steve swallowed because those eyes, they were so green.

"Come on them," he growled, jerking the knife out of his shoulder because he needed a weapon, "Let's get this over with."

Her eyes crinkled up, glinting cruelly, and he thought she was smiling. She came stalking towards him, and he held out his knife, threatening, fully expecting her to attack.

Then a strange look came into her eyes, and she stopped in her tracks. "Steve?" And those green eyes, they belonged to Natasha. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry, I didn't know-" She pulled the mask off her face, looking horrified.

"Natasha." He sighed in relief, striding up to her and grabbing her face to kiss her. She returned his kiss passionately, as if she wanted to drink him dry.

"It was never going to be a knife for you, Steve," she said, pulling back. He frowned, confused. She kept talking, stepping further away. "The noble soldier, who understands every kind of warfare except, perhaps, the cruelest." Her smile was icy.

Steve coughed, his brain buzzing, his throat burning. "What… what did you do?" he managed to ask.

"I only kissed you," she said innocently, and her eyes were so dark and amused again. He coughed again, harder, and his muscles ached. Poison in her lipstick? Probably something like that. "Bye-bye, honey," she whispered, and turned to walk away.

His serum wasn't fighting back against whatever poison she'd given him, and he staggered. Natasha's knife slipped out of his shaking fingers, and he let out a wordless cry of pain.

"Steve?" A slim hand shook him by the shoulder, firm and gentle. "Steve, wake up."

He groaned, forcing his eyes open. His bedroom. He was in his bedroom in Avengers headquarters, tangled up in the sheets. Natasha hovered over him, concerned, and for a moment he couldn't forget his dream and he sat up quickly, pushing her away. An instant later, he felt terrible and reached out to touch her shoulder reassuringly.

"Are you okay, Steve?" she asked.

He shrugged, rubbing reflexively at his shoulder. It was unhurt, the muscle intact and as strong as ever. "Just a bad dream," he said defensively. "Go back to sleep."

"What happened?" Natasha moved closer to him, offering him her support. Steve remembered the way she'd looked in his dream and hated himself for it.

"It was nothing," he grunted. "I'm fine."

She looked at him closely, and he saw that she was hurt that he wouldn't tell her. The trust between them was still a fragile thing, but would telling her what he'd seen do any good? He could ruin everything.

"You don't want to know," he said firmly.

She just gave him a look that said yes, she did.

So he told her the nightmare, trying to make it sound like some stupid combination of the TV they'd watched before bed and his own PTSD. She had that look on her face, the blank eyes and smooth features that didn't let him see what she felt or thought. He began regretting his decision to tell her the truth. He should have said it was about Bucky.

"I see," she said, when he'd finished. "I'm sorry, Steve."

He shrugged. "I told you, it was just a bad dream. I'm fine."

Natasha glanced away, and he brushed her hair out of her face and put his arm around her, pulling her close against his chest.

"Our first real kiss," she murmured.

"Hm?"

"If that had been real, that would've been our first real kiss. Sort of."

Steve frowned. "Well, I guess, but it was a dream."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were blazing. "Only now it's a memory. A memory of kissing me that's not real."

Steve had to admit that he was immensely confused. "Natasha, I don't-"

She sighed, frustrated. "Look. Kissing on the elevator was a distraction. A ploy to keep us alive. And then I kissed you to kill you. So the only memories you have of us kissing are lies. Just me trying to get something out of you."

"But Nat, it was just a nightmare!"

"You wouldn't dream something like that if you didn't think, somewhere deep, that I'm just going to fail you. You don't trust me." Those last words were uttered with a kind of understanding resignation, as if she wasn't surprised. And Steve was angry.

"I do trust you, Natasha. More than anyone else on this team."

"Right." She shook her head. "You'd have to be stupid to trust me, Rogers. I'm not offended."

Steve made one of those split-second decisions that he was so good at and cupped her face in his hands, pausing a second to marvel at how well they fit. Then he tugged her closer and kissed her, hard. Because he wasn't going to let her think he didn't trust her. Her small, strong hands gripped his waist, and he opened himself to her and held her even tighter because she had to understand.

It was a very different kiss than the kiss on the elevator. This kiss was full of passion and promises and it made his brain short-circuit. He had to pull away first, honestly a bit overwhelmed, and after a minute of gathering his thoughts (because they'd scattered all over the room), he grinned cheekily at her and said, "Call me stupid, then. Because I trust you with my life."

* * *

 **A/N:** **I wrote this one a lonnnng time ago, and for some reason forgot to post it. It has a neat little Doctor Who reference from the episode "Let's Kill Hitler" because that episode inspired this one-shot.**

 **Please review, darlings!**


	20. Chapter 20: Hello From the Other Side

Hello From the Other Side

He couldn't breathe. It felt vaguely as if someone was sitting on his chest, squeezing the life out of him while fire burned in his stomach, twisting alive and hot like a dragon. Pain. He realized he was clinging to his gun still, and with a groan he let go of it.

Was someone there with him? He didn't know.

"Steve? Steve! He's waking up!"

He cringed. So loud. Why were they so loud?

"Let me through." A low growl, laden with worry and aggression. Bucky.

Steve bit the insides of his cheeks and forced his eyes open. His stomach hurt so much and breathing… breathing felt wrong.

"Steve, Steve, look at me." Sam. Steve did as he was told, sluggish. He could see the rest of the team standing around worried, and he immediately tried to sit up, to reassure them, to tell them he was alright. He had to stifle a cry of pain as Bucky and Sam and Wanda simultaneously shouted at him "Don't move!"

He remembered now. He'd been stabbed… three times? He thought it was three.

"Idiot," Bucky growled. "You absolute idiot. You couldn't just stay with the rest of us? Damn you, you reckless son of a bitch."

Steve smiled a little. "Am I gonna be okay?"

Bucky's incredulous laugh choked off in what sounded like a sob, and Sam glanced at Wanda for a moment before answering. It occurred to Steve, suddenly, that Wanda's cheeks were tear-stained. He wanted to get up and hug her, comfort Bucky, but everything hurt so much and he was suddenly aware of how wet his skin and suit were. Blood. He shuddered, a chill of fear tracing cold fingers up his spine.

"Steve, we didn't even think you were gonna wake up again," Clint said gruffly.

"So no," he mumbled, raising a shaking hand to his face. His fingers were covered in blood and he quickly let his arm go limp. "Bucky."

His friend looked at him, grey eyes so hollow and haunted. "What?" he snarled, but he wasn't angry at Steve. Steve knew what it looked like when Bucky was mad at him, and this wasn't it.

"You take my shield."

"Don't you dare," the Sergeant said. "Don't do that, Steven Grant Rogers. Don't do that to me."

"No, listen." Steve hated that he couldn't sit up. He closed his eyes, scowling against the pain. "You take my shield. When you all go back… the shield's yours."

He opened his eyes again to shoot Bucky a glare, commanding, for once. He didn't order Bucky around anymore, but he would now. Because if he didn't, he wasn't sure what would happen to his friend once he was gone.

Bucky was crying. Bucky wasn't supposed to cry. Steve looked away, gave Wanda a half-hearted smile. She'd just lost Pietro. This wasn't fair to her. She glowed faintly with red light, like she was trying to protect herself.

"Where's my phone?" He had one more thing to do. One more.

"Your phone?"

"Yes, where's my goddamn phone?" he snapped, harsher than he meant to.

Sam sighed and pulled the device out of Steve's pocket. "Here."

He knew the number by heart, and although he hadn't dialed it for months, his fingers found the buttons easily.

He didn't know what he was planning to say, but when she picked up, answering with a casual, "Hey," he almost broke down. But he didn't.

"Hey Nat." He smiled a little, deciding privately not to tell her what was happening. He knew they couldn't get here in time to save him, he could _feel_ it, and he wasn't letting them put his team back in prison.

"Steve?!" He could practically _hear_ her gaping, incredulous. "What the hell? Why are you calling? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He snorted. "It's fine. I just missed you."

His team protested, of course. "Tell her, Steve!" Bucky protested, anger making his voice scrape. "You could have a chance, just tell her, damn it!"

"What's going on, Steve?" Nat said, suspicious. "Why are you calling me now?"

"I told you. I miss you."

She sighed, long and frustrated. "Okay, let's pretend you aren't totally lying to me. How are you?"

"Been better," he admitted. That was funny. He chuckled a little to himself.

"Well, you are a wanted fugitive trying to save the world," she said. "The vigilante life doesn't sound good on you, Steve."

"Doesn't feel so good either. I'm really tired. And I hate having to hide all the time." Oh, God. He _hurt_. "What about you?"

"Things aren't so bad."

"Now who's lying?" he said, trying to keep a pained groan out of his voice.

She laughed shortly. "I never expected this to go well, Steve, but… I chose this because I knew it would happen. If I'd fought with you, they'd never trust me. I'd lose everything. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." Steve realized things were going dark again. He was slipping. Blood was everywhere, too much of it. "Good talking to you, Natasha," he said. Ah, shit. He'd said that badly. He didn't think he'd meant to say it like he was crying. Was he crying? Or was that just more blood?

"Steve? Steve, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm… I'm fine."

"Steve! Where are you? You are not okay at all, where are you?"

Bucky grabbed the phone from him then. "He's dying!" he yelled into the phone, panicked. Steve let his eyes fall closed. "He's dying, you have to come help him!" He started shouting their location.

His heartbeat was getting louder and slower. Was that normal? Steve just wanted it to be over. There was blood everywhere. It didn't hurt anymore, at least, but it was hard to breathe. Hard to think.

The blackness was beautiful. He thought there was supposed to be light. Where was the light?

There. He sighed and reached out for it. Safe. He'd finally be safe.

He could rest.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Prompt: Imagine Person B being injured and dying and they call Person A to say goodbye and instead of a normal emotional farewell, they just talk like everything is okay and normal.**

 **I'm sorry about this, guys. Welcome to the angst fest.**

 **Please review!**


	21. Chapter 21: A Short Explanation of Shipp

A Short Explanation of Shipping, As Told by the New Avengers

Wanda didn't even know what shipping was until Vision told her, but she shipped Steve and Natasha from the first time she saw them interacting.

She had the advantage of being able to read their minds, but Steve's emotions were obvious to anyone with eyes. Natasha was trickier to read, but she had a tremendous amount of admiration for Steve, admiration that was confused by swirling fears and self-hatred and chaos.

There were times when Wanda just wanted to make them kiss – she could, after all, and they really needed the extra prompting – but she never did, settling for leaving little hints in their heads. Making Natasha think _I wonder what kissing him would feel like_ , making Steve think _I really oughta just tell her how I feel_. Vision caught her at it once, and told her, with a faint smile, that he "shipped" Romanogers too. He then had to explain to her the internet phenomenon of shipping, which made her laugh.

* * *

Vision shipped them rather differently. He was, after all, an artificial intelligence and had no emotional investment in the idea of a relationship between the two. However, reviewing their files and past interactions, it made sense to him. They complimented each other's attributes quite nicely; the proverb "opposites attract" seemed to fit them superbly. (Although Vision thought the proverb itself was ridiculous, he could appreciate its meaning.)

He had difficulty deciphering facial expressions (although his data banks had helpful tips), but he was fairly sure that Captain Rogers felt some form of affection for Agent Romanoff. It was difficult to tell what kind, though, and Romanoff was very nearly impossible to understand.

But he was sure that his math and statistics were correct: Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff would be quite psychologically compatible, and if they were to breed, would conceive ideal children. But since that didn't seem like an acceptable thing to say to either of them, he kept those thoughts to himself.

* * *

Sam had been trying to get Steve and Natasha together for a while now. His problem, he decided, was mostly a lack of subtlety. He kept trying to give Steve hints, mostly things like, "Just ask her out already, man!" but for some reason, that never worked. If Steve wasn't so emotionally constipated, maybe it would have.

So he resorted to glaring silently at the two of them as they sparred and ate breakfast and watched movies and talked to each other and somehow didn't manage to say anything important. He even tried to get the Maximoff girl to _make_ them talk about their feelings but she refused, although not before admitting that she really wanted to.

He was a therapist. Would it be too hard to believe if he told Steve that a relationship with Natasha would be good for therapeutic reasons? Probably, but it was worth a try, because subtlety wasn't his thing.

* * *

Luckily, subtlety was Bucky's thing. Luckily because by the time he showed up, Steve had royally messed up. At first it was no biggie (aw hey, you got some action, good for you, Stevie) but then later, when he saw the way Steve and Natasha interacted, he wanted to smack his idiot friend. He wasn't sure what Steve had been doing kissing that blond girl when he had _this_ dame around. Frankly, if it weren't for the obvious mutual pining going on, Bucky might've tried courting Natasha himself.

Well, he did that anyway.

Nothing like a little flirting to make Steve jealous; it was obvious that he considered Natasha _his girl_ , and it take a lot of work to get him fuming. Just a wink or two, a _hey, you wanna get a drink sometime?_ , and Steve was mad enough to yell at him. In fact, he was mad enough to yell at him where Natasha could hear, because Bucky may or may not have made sure that when Steve finally blew up at him, he wouldn't realize that Natasha was right around the corner in the common room listening to Steve declaring that she was, in fact, his girl, and he'd be damned if Bucky stole her from him.

It was hilarious.

What was more hilarious, though, was Natasha's reaction. She came barreling around the corner, smacked Bucky in the face for being a manipulative son of a bitch, and pulled Steve into a _very_ passionate kiss.

And Bucky had no qualms about giving a piercing wolf-whistle and then running off to brag to Sam that _he_ was the one who got Steve to admit his feelings and _not_ some up-start slow-poke therapist. Because what the hell was Steve doing making new best friends while he was gone, anyway?

* * *

 **A/N:** **From an Anonymous Tumblr prompt: can you write a romanogers fic where the new avengers ships steve and nat? ily**

 **Because my emotionally constipated babies have the most obvious sexual tension ever and WON'T JUST GET MARRIED ALREADY so yeah. Welcome to the fluffiness.**

 **Please review!**


	22. Chapter 22: 6 AM Sharp Sneak Peek

6 AM Sharp Sneak Peek

Natasha forced a smile, handing the grumpy customer his triple shot latte. "Have a nice day!" she said, purposefully making her voice a bit too chirpy and sweet. The man growled something rude, flipped her the bird, and took his drink.

She hated these early morning customers, with their miserably tired voices and perpetual scowls. As much as she enjoyed her job, it never quite made up for the rudeness some of these people displayed.

"What did that cup ever do to you?" Clint gestured to her hand. She realized she'd been clenching her hand around an empty coffee cup, and with a sigh she threw it away.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," her partner snorted. "Apologize to the line you're holding up."

"Shit!" Natasha grimaced and elbowed Clint, moving past him to take the next order. "Sorry about that."

The customer next in line was a scrawny guy with floppy blond hair and the kindest blue eyes she'd ever seen. He looked about her height, but he wasn't standing up straight; there was a curve to his spine that suggested scoliosis. "No problem," he said, smiling. He had a Brooklyn accent and a voice was disproportionately deep and resonant for his size. At least he was in a good mood. "Tall coffee, black, extra shot of caffeine."

She laughed. "You sure about that?" The size he was, that much caffeine would probably make him vibrate with excess energy all day. She entered his order in the machine anyway.

"Yep." He handed her a five dollar bill to pay, and she expertly rang up the purchase and counted out his change.

"And what's the name to go with this order?"

The guy grinned, starting to walk away from the counter. "Steve."

Natasha told Clint Steve's order and kept working.

She was surprised to realize, about an hour later when the morning rush slowed slightly, that Steve was still there, seated at a high table by the window with what looked like a sketchbook in front of him, his lips pursed thoughtfully. He'd probably finished his extra-caffeinated coffee a while ago, but he hadn't gotten up to throw away the cup. She wondered, absentmindedly, what he was drawing, but then Clint started making kissing noises in her ear and she had to turn around to smack him.

It was another half hour or so (a busy one for the coffee shop) before Natasha noticed Steve hopping off his chair, throwing away his empty cup, and making his way outside with his sketchbook in hand.

She told herself she wasn't disappointed; Steve was just a customer who happened to be nice at six in the morning and she didn't need to keep being curious about what he needed all that caffeine for and what he was drawing.

Never mind that the guy was actually pretty cute and had a smile to put the sun to shame.

As the weeks passed, however, little Steve with his extra shot of caffeine and sketchbook slipped her mind, and she worked the café much as she always did.

The coffee shop was Clint's personal business. It had been nothing but a small place on a forgotten street corner before his big break. Then, one ordinary Tuesday, Tony Stark had visited and liked the coffee and food so much that he bought him a new building and started sponsoring him. He wasn't going to turn up his nose at an offer like that when he was barely making a living with the place before, and now he owned the most popular coffee place in New York besides chain places like Starbucks. Tony still visited at least once a week to buy a breakfast sandwich and a caramel frappuccino, which was good for business and a lot of fun.

"Good morning, Natasha!" Tony liked to announce his presence as dramatically as possible; this Monday that meant that he strode through the door, whipped off his sunglasses, and tossed them across the room. A college student pulled her headphones out of her ears and sheepishly retrieved the glasses from the floor, obviously unsure what to do with them.

"Hey Stark." Natasha rolled her eyes at him fondly. "Your usual?"

"Yep. That's why they call it a usual, honey." Nat huffed in irritation and threw an orange at Tony; he caught it without even blinking and began peeling it. "And kid, keep the sunglasses," he added, turning to grin at the young woman still waiting for someone to tell her what to do. "I bet if you sell them on eBay you could be rich."

"Oh, lay off, Tony," Clint said, vaulting over the counter to slug the billionaire in the shoulder. Tony handed Clint his credit card, as he always did. They liked to joke that he was too lazy to make his purchases at the counter like a normal person, but the fact of the matter was that they'd found it fun to play along with his celebrity status to see the expressions on people's faces.

Natasha went to work making his breakfast sandwich with Maria's help (two fried eggs, five strips of extra crispy bacon, a few pieces of melting cheese), and for a moment didn't notice who'd just walked in.

"What can I get for you today?" Clint could be very calm and professional when he chose to be.

"Tall black coffee, extra shot of caffeine."

Natasha paused as she flipped an egg, glancing back. Sure enough, the familiar baritone voice belonged to Steve. He was just as cheerful and sweet-looking as she remembered. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow.

Maria nodded at her, a silent _'I've got this'_ , and Natasha left the food to say hello. "Steve, right?"

"Yeah." The guy seemed surprised she'd remembered him. "You have a good recall," he said appreciatively.

"No, you just made quite the impression the first time you came in."

When Steve blushed, his face and neck and the tips of his ears turned bright red, and for a moment he looked so cute that Natasha almost giggled. "That's not somethin' people normally say," he snorted.

"Who doesn't take note of an artist who sits in the same spot for two hours drinking super-caffeinated coffee?"

"Okay, if you two would stop flirting and let me finish serving the customers…" Clint grumbled, elbowing Natasha in the ribs. Now it was her turn to blush, scowling and smacking her friend's arm.

"Shut up, Barton."

Steve laughed at them, tossing his head back in genuine amusement, and Natasha decided that was one of the more attractive sights she'd ever seen.

She finished making Tony's sandwich, took the frappuccino from Clint, and walked out from behind the counter to give Tony his order. Then, confirming that her coworkers had the remaining customers well in hand, she detoured to the table where Steve had seated himself.

"Hey," she said, crossing her arms. "Sorry about my boss. He has no filter." She tried to get a look at what Steve was drawing, but he hid it with one thin arm.

"It's fine. I've got a friend like that," he answered. "He thinks it's his job to embarrass me. Actually, he's pickin' me up when I'm done here."

"Can't you drive?" she teased.

Steve snorted, exasperation clear on his features, and she realized that it was probably a tasteless joke. "Yes, I can drive," he scoffed. "But we're gonna visit my mom after this and my car's in the shop."

Natasha went to apologize, then caught the mischievous glint in his eyes and grinned slowly. "So… why the early hours and the super strong coffee? I'd have pegged you for a cream and sugar guy. Peppermint mocha, maybe, or cinnamon hot cocoa."

Steve shrugged wryly. "Yeah, well. People make a lot of assumptions about me. Most of 'em way off." Then that sunny smile was back, and he lifted his sketchbook. "But to answer your question: the coffee and early mornings are so I have time to get some extra drawin' done before work. Normally I go to Starbucks, but sometimes it's too crowded, so I come here."

"What's your job?"

"Interior designer." He grimaced. "At least, that's what I tell people. I'm actually a glorified secretary at the design company. It's a shitty job and equally shitty pay, but it's what I wanna be doing, and sometimes I get to help with my boss's projects."

Natasha frowned sympathetically. "Couldn't you quit?"

He laughed, shrugging. "I could, but it took me a long time to get this job, and I can already barely afford coffee."

"Fair enough."

The door opened, and a tall, muscular man sauntered in, piercing grey eyes searching the coffee shop. He was smirking, and the expression was natural on his face, like he woke up every morning satisfied with himself and the world. He didn't, Natasha decided. People like him were all too often hiding things behind their arrogant expressions.

"Can I help you?" Clint asked.

"I'll let you know," the man answered.

Steve grinned, getting off his chair with a little jump, and Natasha realized with a jolt of surprise that this must be the friend he was waiting for. Once again, the little guy had upset her expectations. It embarrassed her that she'd automatically assumed his friend was some mousy little guy, maybe another artist.

"Hey Buck!"

"There you are, punk. We goin' or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Steve threw away his coffee cup and tucked his pencil behind his ear. "I've been waitin' for you, jerk. You're late."

His friend started to go, then met Natasha's eyes and smiled, slow and charming. She almost laughed at how fast his focus switched. "Hey, beautiful," he said, and Steve groaned and punched his arm.

"Would you leave her alone, Bucky? Seriously. We're supposed to be going to see Mom."

"Aren't you going to introduce us, Steve?" Natasha said, teasing.

Steve gave her a look like _don't encourage him_ , but sighed and said, "Bucky, this is… oh crap, I'm sorry, what _is_ your name?"

Natasha burst out laughing, doubling over with her hands on her knees. She'd never told Steve her name. How weird was that? She knew and remembered his name, but didn't bother telling him hers? "So you're Bucky?" she managed, holding out her left hand for Steve's friend to shake. To her surprise, the man hesitated, then held out his right hand, and she switched hands without asking about it. Now that she looked more closely, she realized that his left arm looked slightly stiff, and he was wearing a glove over that hand.

"Yep, that's my name. Yours?"

"Natasha," she said, glancing at Steve as she did.

"Nice name." Bucky smirked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You know Stevie?"

"Kind of."

Steve explained. "I've come in here twice for coffee, and I guess she's really bored or else doesn't see a lot of interestin' people, 'cause she was curious about my drawings."

More accurately, Natasha was curious about Steve, but she wasn't going to say that.

"Excuse me, can't help but overhear…" Tony broke into the conversation, walking over, still slurping his frappuccino. Steve looked like he was going to have a heart attack, and when he started wheezing a bit, Natasha shot Tony a murderous scowl. The scrawny guy pulled an inhaler out of his pocket, however, and got himself back under control.

It certainly wasn't the worst reaction Tony had ever gotten.

"What the hell, Tony?" Natasha grumbled, crossing her arms.

"What? They said you never met anyone interesting, and I mean, I think I count as interesting, so…"

"No, you're as dull as a brick and twice as hard to stomach!" Clint hollered from behind the counter.

Steve chuckled, a tentative sound of amusement like he was still embarrassed, while his friend Bucky snorted and shot Clint an appreciative look.

"Chill out, guys, I don't bite," Tony said, smirking. "Not unless you want me to."

"Seriously, Stark?" Natasha groaned. "That wasn't even original."

"No, but it got the desired reaction."

That was true; Steve had turned the color of a ripe strawberry. Bucky was just smirking again. "I might take you up on that," he snarked.

Tony burst out laughing, and Clint abandoned the register to join the conversation. He'd found himself a kindred spirit, Natasha could tell, which was going to be bad. "Clint," he said, nodding to Bucky and Steve.

"Bucky Barnes." The handsome guy nodded, lips curling mischievously. "As much as I'd like to keep chattin', we need to get going."

Steve's eyes darkened (Natasha thought they looked like the ocean, changing from blue to dark grey) and he nodded. "Right. Seeyah guys, and nice meeting you, Mr. Stark."

"Thanks, squirt," Tony said flippantly. "And it's Tony."

Steve frowned but didn't comment on the nickname. Bucky slung an arm around the smaller man's shoulders, and the familiar gesture made Natasha curious. The two were obviously close, and she wondered if maybe they were more than friends. Boyfriends, maybe? The thought gave her a pang, and she immediately felt ridiculous. She'd met Steve twice and he'd only just learned her name. Just because he was cute and gentlemanly and cheerful and artistic and… shit. She dismissed those thoughts and strode back behind the counter.

Steve started coming to the coffee shop every day after that, striding through the door at 6 o'clock sharp, always ordering his super-juice coffee and occasionally a bagel with extra cream cheese. Sometimes Bucky came with him, and he would join Clint behind the counter to learn how to make a good cappuccino while flirting with Sharon and Darcy just to see their reactions.

…

Two weeks later, Steve walked through the door with a swollen nose, split lip, and a black eye. He seemed as good-natured as ever, despite the fact that he looked like he'd been mugged. Natasha swallowed back her worried questions as he got in line, fidgeting. He was limping slightly.

"Hey Steve," she said carefully. She was almost afraid to ask what had happened to him. Irrational, she knew, but there had been mornings when Clint asked her what happened and she had to lie to him... She gritted her teeth and smiled. "Your usual?"

He chuckled. Warm and hopeful. "No, I'm thinkin' I want a raspberry mocha this mornin'."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and what did you do with Steve?"

He crossed his arms, grinning. His knuckles were bruised. "Maybe a ham and cheese breakfast sandwich, too."

Strange. He'd never seemed interested in either menu item before. So much for his pre-made black coffee (she'd taken to having his usual order ready for him ahead of time). Still, she rung up his new order and accepted a handful of cash. Something tight and worried in her gut eased; he seemed okay. Of course, maybe he was just a good liar, like she was... As she moved to make his order, letting Clint work the register, she called, "So what happened?"

Steve laughed. "Nothing. I'm fine."

She felt strange at that. _Nothing, I'm fine_. "No you aren't," she said, a bit too forcefully. "What happened?"

He looked down, flushed with embarrassment. "I got in a fight. Outside a bar. Some jerk was hitting his girlfriend, so I punched him." He didn't say any more, but Natasha realized, with a pang of sympathetic amusement, that Steve had probably gotten his ass kicked. So she didn't press him for details, instead focusing on his drink and trying to ignore the delicious, warm feeling pulsing in her veins because of course little Steve Rogers, the black coffee drinker with a stubborn streak a mile wide, would be the sort of person to get in a fight to protect someone else. She wondered how often Bucky, with his muscular, imposing figure, had to step in and help Steve out. Probably too often.

She finished the cappuccino and handed it directly to Steve before going to work on his sandwich.

"How are you?" he asked, accepting the drink.

"I'm good," she said honestly. "Been a busy day."

"That's good." Steve leaned against the counter, watching her work, and she felt oddly self-conscious. "Tired?"

"Not really. Kinda."

The artist smiled and settled onto one of the stools by the counter, instead of his usual window seat, digging into his backpack for his sketchbook and a pencil. She'd become familiar with the sight of the small, black-covered sketchbook in his hand, the edges of the pages stained with paint.

He curled one arm around the book as he drew, and she focused on cooking, trying to pretend that she didn't care what he was drawing.

She wished she'd known Steve a long time ago. Wished she'd known him before she met Brock and everything went to hell. Maybe then she… but no, she'd been someone else before. She'd been someone who wouldn't have given Steve Rogers a second glance.

He really didn't make a big impression, physically. His shoulders curved forward, making him look even smaller than he was. He was short, with thin arms and a thin chest and thin legs and… well, he was just thin. His jaw and other facial features were strong (still thin), and he had asthma and pale skin… He looked as if a stiff breeze might blow him over. And yet his eyes blazed with fire and he stood straight and proud, a cheerful smile tugging at his lips. Even hunched over his drawing, he exuded a sense of strength and authority. How did he do that?

Maybe the old Natasha wouldn't have given Steve the time of day, but now? Now she acknowledged that he was something special.

"Got any plans today?" he asked casually as she assembled the completed parts of his sandwich. From anyone else, that might've sounded like a pick-up line, maybe a precursor to asking her to lunch. But he kept his eyes on his drawing, tracing what was maybe a rough circle (it was starting to really irk her that she couldn't see the paper), completely focused. She knew enough about people to know that if Steve was fixing to ask her out, he wouldn't be this calm.

"Not really. My shift ends at four and then I'm going home and eating frozen pizza for dinner."

"Frozen?" Steve looked up, finally, raising an eyebrow. "Wow. Tough on the teeth."

"You know what I mean," she huffed, grinning.

"Yeah." He hesitated, and there at last was a flash of nervousness in his eyes as he gave a sheepish smile and said, "Bucky invited Clint to this pizza and movie night thing later. It's just me and Bucky and my friend Peggy, usually, but Clint was coming and I thought… I thought maybe it'd be cool if you came. I mean, Pizza Hut isn't much better than frozen pizza, but it might be fun."

Natasha almost said yes right away, without thinking. Steve was nice, Steve was sweet, she wanted to be his friend… And she didn't think she should. Not because there was anything wrong with him but because she could picture herself (all too easily) falling for this little Brooklyn artist. So she hesitated, wiped a counter, ignored Maria pointedly elbowing her in the back, and said carefully, "I'm not sure."

Steve slumped slightly, and she cursed the disappointed expression on his face. If he knew how much like an abandoned puppy he looked…

Maria elbowed her again, and she bit back a sigh and turned on her. "What?" she hissed.

"Just go," Maria said. "Clint's going to be there. He's not asking for much. He just wants to be your friend."

That was the problem. Everyone was always asking for something; everyone had an angle. But she nodded anyway as if Maria had given some kind of genius argument, turned around, and grinned brightly at Steve. "Alright, I'll be there."

* * *

 **A/N: This is the first chapter of a Romanogers coffee shop AU I'm working on. Hopefully I'll be continuing it; if I do I'll let y'all know! I'm really fond of this AU, but at the same time I'm not good at maintaining multi-chapter fics, sooo...**

 **Please review, my darlings! Love y'all!**


	23. Chapter 23: Steal My Girl: In Which Buck

Steal My Girl: In Which Bucky Risks Life and Limb to Get Steve a Date

Natasha was sitting on the bar (not at it, on it) drinking a glass of vodka. Bucky hesitated a moment to assess the situation and recall his most successful conquests from his old life. With any luck, he'd be able to turn on the charm well enough that Steve would finally snap.

He'd been getting increasingly irritated with Bucky lately because of how much the Soldier was flirting with Natasha, although he was trying to hide it. That would've made Bucky feel bad, only it was so funny and was, after all, the reaction he was going for.

Bucky sauntered up to the bar, fully aware that Steve was sitting on the couch watching TV nearby, and slid onto a stool with a grin.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. "What's up?"

"You, apparently," he said, glancing from the bar counter to her face.

She laughed, rolling her eyes at him. "You need something?"

"Maybe," he said, smirking. It was all an act, but then, acting was what he was good at. "Just figured you weren't busy tonight, and I'm not busy tonight, so…" He winked. He wanted to glance back and see if Steve was paying attention, but Natasha would notice that, so he just kept smiling innocently at her.

"Are you asking me to dinner, Sergeant Barnes?" she said, an amused grin tilting her lips upward. Bucky wondered (not for the first time) how Steve hadn't managed to ask her out yet; she was gorgeous.

"Yes, ma'am," he chuckled.

He was almost startled when Steve grabbed his arm, which would've been bad, but he heard his friend's footsteps just an instant before a hand wrapped around his upper right arm and he was practically hauled off his stool. "Can we talk?" Steve hissed, his expression surprisingly calm and reasonable despite the obvious tension in his eyes and muscles.

Bucky grinned, although he shrugged uncomfortably out of the hold on his arm, making Steve let go with an apologetic grimace. "Sure thing, punk. Excuse us a moment, would you, doll?"

Natasha lifted her glass, expression both curious and concerned. "No problem."

Bucky couldn't help but feel a bit nervous, not because of what Steve's reaction was going to be, but because angry people (particularly when they were angry at him) made him uncomfortable.

Steve stopped him in the hallway that led to the elevator, a short distance from the common room. Close enough, Bucky decided, that if he could get Steve to talk loud enough, Natasha would hear.

"What's the problem, Steve?" Bucky asked, leaning casually against the wall. It was reassuring having something so solid at his back.

Steve ran a hand over his face, clearly still fuming but trying to control himself. He kept his voice down. "Bucky… Natasha is… she's… She's sort of taken."

"Oh, you mean that Bruce Banner guy." Bucky snorted. "He's not here. And if I've been hearin' right, he left a couple years ago and never came back. She's fair game."

That phrasing only made Steve angrier. Good. Despite his nervousness, Bucky really wanted to laugh at how predictable Steve was.

"Yeah, but… it's not fair to Bruce."

"He's gone, and she's moved on. It's obvious to anyone with eyes. She's fine and she's gotten over him." He smirked at the sudden hope in Steve's eyes. What an idiot. He probably thought she still cared about Bruce (if she ever had; Bucky suspected she hadn't, at least not like that).

Steve floundered for a minute, spluttering, and Bucky put on an irritated expression. "What's the problem?"

"I just… Um…" Steve rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, staring at the floor, and murmured, "She's, um… Look, Buck, I kinda like her and I-"

"Ohh." Bucky nodded, snorting. "And what, you just expect me to back off 'cause you gotta crush on her?"

Steve blinked, startled, hurt turning his blue eyes dark. "Well, I guess I did."

Bucky scoffed, feeling a bit bad but not bad enough to change his tone. "Yeah, well you know where you can stick that. I'm not backin' off for you or anyone unless she says otherwise. And I don't think she will."

"Look, Bucky… I think maybe I love her and I was just too scared to say anything. Can't you understand that?"

He'd raised his voice a touch, and he looked frustrated. Bucky crossed his arms, letting himself sneer, derision making his voice cruel. "Yeah, I get it. You're still scared witless of anythin' in a skirt. Maybe I like her too, Captain America. I got just as much chance as you."

Steve stared at him, shocked. Bucky never argued with Steve these days, not about anything but medication and therapy, and never like this. "I've known her longer," he said, low. Determined. There he was. "We've saved each other's lives over and over again, Buck, we trust each other."

"Yeah? And that makes you her ideal partner? Then how come you haven't said anything to her yet?"

"You got one thing right," Steve growled. He seemed to have forgotten that Natasha was right in the other room. He had good self-control, but not when you got him mad enough. Bucky ignored the twinge of fear Steve's fierce reply gave him. "I'm scared to. But I will, when I think she's ready to hear it."

"Ready to hear it? What kinda shit is that?" Bucky pushed himself off the wall, getting in Steve's face, smirking because if he didn't he might burst out laughing and ruin it. "I'll ask her on a date if I want to, punk, and what the hell are you gonna do about it?" He made as if to leave, and then Steve grabbed his shoulder and tugged him to a stop.

"Damn it, Sergeant!" he snapped, fierce. Loud. Bucky contained a shudder that threatened to ruin the perfect moment. "She's my girl and I'll be damned if I let you come waltzin' in and steal her from me just 'cause you've had a tough time of things!"

There. Bucky dissolved into gales of laughter, pushing Steve's hand off his shoulder. Give it a minute… and there. Natasha came barreling around the corner, eye blazing, hands on her hips. "Bucky Barnes, you manipulative son of a bitch," she snapped, smacking him in the face. "Sorry." Then she pivoted on her heel, grabbed a handful of Steve's shirt, and pulled him down to her level to kiss him.

Bucky managed to choke back his laughter long enough to give a piercing wolf whistle, then turned and strode off, self-satisfied. He needed a few minutes alone; confrontation was hard for him. But after that, he was gonna tease Steve Rogers mercilessly, because that was, after all, his job.

* * *

 **A/N: This is a sequel (ish) to "A Short Explanation of Shipping", as requested by an Anon on Tumblr who wanted to see the scene where Steve got mad enough to yell and whatnot.**

 **I have posted my new story "6 AM Sharp", and it has 2 chapters now! Have a look!**

 **Please review!**


	24. Chapter 24: This Is Me and You

This Is Me and You

Steve was massaging his shoulder, a vacant look in his eyes, fingers stretching to reach between his shoulder blades. Nat couldn't quite believe that the skin and muscle were whole and intact; had it really only been a few hours since he'd been lying on the ground trying not to scream because his shoulder had been practically destroyed and he couldn't move his arm?

Natasha threaded her fingers through his, stopping the movement of his hand, and he glanced over at her with a sheepish smile. But when he moved his hand, she left hers on his shoulder, tracing light patterns. When he raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. "I just have to make sure you're all here," she said. She still hadn't been able to get the image of his burned, raw flesh out of her head.

"Yeah. You and me both."

"Those Asgardian healing stones are the best," Tony grunted. His goatee was singed off on one side. "I mean, it sucks that they don't fix hair, but otherwise they rock." He winked, and Natasha huffed a laugh and buried her face in Steve's back.

"That was awful!"

"I gotta agree, Tony," Bucky said. "Terrible pun. Worse beard." He was tracing his fingers over the ridges of his metal arm. It had been badly damaged during the battle (again), but Tony had shut down the artificial nerves, so he didn't seem to be in much pain.

Asgard was in ruins, for the most part. Thanos hadn't left anything sacred. They had spent the afternoon having a proper Norse funeral for the dead warriors, and, strangely, one of the honored fallen had been Loki. Thor wasn't talking much now; he was wrapped in a thick green cloak, his icy blue eyes dark and somber and a little teary. He and the Goddess of Healing, Eir, had managed to recover several crystalline stones which they had said could heal all but the deadliest of hurts. And, thankfully, that proved to be true.

Still, a lot of their teammates were dead. The healing stones had been too late for them.

Clint.

Vision.

Lang.

Strange.

Natasha closed her eyes and reveled in Steve's returned strength. At least he hadn't left her.

"You okay?" he asked. It was a stupid question, but that seemed to be what they all wanted to know. Was everyone else okay?

"Yeah." She wasn't. But she was alive and she was coping and that was what he meant, anyway. "You?"

"Mostly." He twisted around and scooped her up, setting her on his lap. She snorted,

"I'm glad you aren't dead," she said softly, fussing with the collar of his Asgardian tunic. She thought maybe she'd be lost without him, and she should have hated that, hated that she relied so completely on another person, but at this point she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

Steve sighed and put his arms around her, burying the fingers of one hand in her hair (as he'd become so fond of doing). "Me too," he said wryly.

"I thought you were." Nat still didn't look at him. For a moment, when he'd been shot and he fell, all she could think was no, and it hurt so bad, like her heart had literally broken into pieces. It still hurt a little, like she hadn't quite accepted that he was alright.

"Nat." He moved his hand to smooth her hair out of her face. "Can you look at me?"

She did, a bit hesitantly. She couldn't help but be ashamed of her feelings; they were irrational and weak and ridiculous. But he never seemed to think they were. His grey-blue eyes were compassionate and earnest as he looked at her.

"I'm right here." It was a stupid thing to say. She knew that. But, as usual, Steve managed to make her feel safe in the simplest of ways. "I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

"I know," she muttered half-heartedly, then leaned her head into his hand, closing her eyes with a little sigh. "I was… I was scared," she said, whispering. "I still am."

She felt his other hand brush into her hair, then his lips met hers, hesitant and a little clumsy, but not by any means unpleasant. What he lacked in "practice," he made up for in sweetness. Not wanting to open her eyes yet, she kissed him back as earnestly as she could, and he laughed a little, the incredulous sort of chuckle where he didn't seem to quite believe what was happening. The fact that he laughed like that while he was kissing her made her feel so deeply happy that she laughed too and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him harder.

"Excuse me," Tony said, breaking in on their moment. "But, in case you forgot, we're still here."

Natasha sighed and leaned back, shooting him a glare that she knew would make him fear for his life, or at the very least, his hair. She actually had sort of forgotten about the rest of them, but she wasn't going to tell them. "How about you keep your mouth shut, Stark?"

"How about you two don't get pregnant in front of me, Red?" he retorted.

Natasha did her best to ignore the pang his words gave her, and she saw Bruce shoot her a sympathetic look. Steve's jaw went tense, and she gave him a little eye roll to tell him _calm down_. She was fine. She was always fine.

"Love you," he said quietly. Casually. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. And she adored him for it.

"I love you too."

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter sort of fits after "This Was My Life" and "This Is My Choice", but isn't TECHNICALLY a sequel. Requested by Tumblr user castielgurl; she wanted the team stargazing on Asgard after they've all nearly died fighting Thanos and then Steve and Nat kiss. I tweaked it slightly, I guess, but ya know. That's what I do. ;)**

 **Please review, lovelies!**


	25. Chapter 25: Your Halo

Your Halo

Steve didn't typically drive his car. Not that it was a bad car; if you lived with Tony Stark, you got the best of everything whether you wanted it or not. But he preferred taking his motorcycle whenever he could. Unfortunately, when it was raining, he had to opt for a car instead.

He switched the radio on, hoping to hear (for once) good music. When he heard a female voice, he almost switched it back off; he didn't like most of the pop stars he heard on the radio. Then he paused.

 _"Remember those walls I built?  
Well, baby, they're tumbling down.  
They didn't even put up a fight,  
They didn't even make a sound.  
I found a way to let you in,  
But I never really had a doubt:  
Standing in the light of your halo,  
I got my angel now."_

He smiled a little. The song reminded him of Nat. Lately she'd been opening up more, tentatively sharing things with him about her past and her emotions. It almost made him nervous, because as glad as he was that she was telling him about herself, he was also terrified of saying the wrong thing, or not saying the right thing, or just generally reacting badly.

Most recently, after describing more about the Red Room and what had been done to her, she had disappeared for a week.

Clint knew where she went, but he wouldn't admit it until Sunday.

…

"I'm sorry, Steve. I thought she'd be back by now. She's at my place with Laura."

Not five minutes later, Steve took a quinjet and flew to Clint's secret family farm. It was hard, not knowing if Natasha wanted him there or not. He thought she'd run because she was ashamed and protecting herself, but he was a little afraid it was because she thought it had been a mistake to trust him.

When he got up to the house, a golden lab came charging out of the house barking and wagging its tail, and Steve really wished he'd been able to avoid all that fanfare. He dodged the animal's excited overtures and made his way up onto the porch, stuffing his hands in his pockets, then thinking better of it and starting to pull them back out, then giving up and leaving them half in as the door opened.

Laura smiled genuinely at him. "Hey Steve. I knew you'd be coming. Why don't you step inside? Natasha is upstairs showering."

Steve smiled sheepishly. "Thanks." The dog followed himself inside, tail wagging. "Who's this?" he asked, mainly to distract himself.

"Lucky, say hi to Captain Rogers." Laura gestured to the couch and sat down on a rocking chair; Steve took the indicated seat. He wasn't sure whether to stretch his legs out or not, so he ended up with his knees bent at an uncomfortable angle.

The Labrador trotted over to Steve, sat down, and lifted a paw which Steve shook politely. "He's nice."

"Yeah." Laura hesitated, then said more quietly, "I told her you would come. She didn't believe me, or at least didn't want to."

"Didn't want to?" Steve's heart plummeted to his stomach. She didn't want him there. This had been a mistake, as usual-

Laura sighed. "She's very confused, Captain Rogers. It's not that she didn't want you to come here, it's that she was afraid you wouldn't so she tried to convince herself she didn't think you would. She doesn't talk much about her past and when she does she gets very... dare I say skittish." She was looking at Steve as if evaluating him, waiting for a proper reaction.

"I..." Steve stopped, stroking Lucky's ears nervously. "I know. I don't think I can blame her. There are things that aren't easy for me to talk about and they aren't nearly as bad as what's happened to her."

Laura nodded slowly. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, and Steve focused on scratching Lucky behind the ears just right so the dog's hind leg thumped up and down like a drummer keeping a fast rhythm.

His serum-enhanced ears picked up the soft sound of Natasha walking down the stairs before he could see her, and he stiffened, hand still stroking the top of Lucky's head. What if he screwed this up?

When Nat first saw him, halfway down the stairs, she faltered a moment before continuing, her expression marble.

"Hey Nat," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. It didn't quite work; his voice came out as a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat as unobtrusively as possible and repeated himself. He noticed Laura getting up and quietly walking away, and almost asked her to stay.

"Rogers." Nat managed an unconvincing smile. "Clint told you I was here?"

"Yeah." Steve rubbed his hands on his knees, suddenly realizing how ridiculous he must look with his legs bent at an 80 degree angle and dog fur on his jeans. "We were worried. I mean, everyone but Clint because - well, he was too, but I mean... I..." He stopped, swore under his breath, and pressed one hand to his forehead with a groan. "Sorry."

Natasha chuckled. It was a weak sound and short, but Steve felt a bit better then. With an awkward sigh he stood and tucked his hands securely in his pockets.

"You scared me," he said, more quietly and slowly. "Natasha... You just left and I didn't know what to think."

She looked down and nodded. "I know."

"Why?" He resisted the urge to reach out and caress her cheek like he wanted to. "Why did you leave?"

"Because, Steve." She sighed and ran a hand through her wet curls. "People like you... You're clean still. Somehow. And I went and told you everything I've done. And that's the part where you realize you can't possibly be friends with a woman like me and you want an excuse to back out, and so I gave you one."

Steve frowned sadly, unsure how to respond. He wanted to shake sense into her, he wanted to hug her, he wanted to show her in every way he knew how that he wasn't leaving. But instead of any of that he stepped a little closer to her and, looking her straight in the eye, said gently, "I'm not backing out."

She flinched and looked down. "You have a sense of duty, I get that, Steve, but I-"

"No." This he could do, this he was good at. Being stubborn. "To hell with duty, Natasha. Listen to me. My best friend is a brainwashed Soviet assassin who doesn't even remember who he is and has more kills on his record than you do, for God's sake. You were raised to kill and that isn't your fault, and it isn't dirty, and it'd be a Godawful reason for me to give up on you."

"Language, Rogers," Natasha said snarkily, but Steve thought he saw hope in her jungle-green eyes before she looked away.

He rolled his eyes at her and kept talking. "Seriously, Nat. Look at me."

She frowned but looked up. He made himself hold her gaze without flinching, although he was a little frightened that what she saw in his own eyes would betray him.

"I'm not in the habit of giving up on anyone or anything and I'm not going to start now. You're a beautiful, powerful, kind woman and I'm privileged to have you for a friend. Please come back with me. Everyone misses you and we need you. Tony's been unbearable for the last few days." He smiled, trying to tell her with his expression that he meant every word. _Please listen to me. Please come home._

Natasha's eyes scanned his face, then she slumped a little and looked down, arms going around her middle as if she felt sick. "I'm sorry."

Steve's heart thudded painfully in his chest.

"I'm sorry I did this to you all, I don't know what I expected but I… thank you." She sounded exhausted, and Steve let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"It's okay. I think I understand." She nodded, and she looked so small and alone standing there that Steve reached out and, tentatively, put his hands on his shoulders and tugged her close to him. "Here." She hesitated, then closed the remaining distance, her head falling against his chest and her eyes drifting closed. He held her as gently as he knew how and sighed. Thank God he hadn't ruined everything, for once.

"Okay, let go of me, you big baby," Natasha mumbled into his shirt, and he snorted, half-embarrassed and half-amused, and stepped back.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." She smiled. "Why don't we go tell the kids I'm leaving? I expect you to be the one to break it to them."

Steve groaned, laughing. "No, that's not fair!"

"It's your fault I'm leaving, Captain America. Suck it up."

…

Steve pulled his car into its parking space and turned the key, shutting off the engine and leaving him with only the sound of the rain hitting the windows to keep him company. How fast, he wondered, could run inside to the coffee shop?

The answer turned out to be pretty damn fast.

He flung the door open, laughing a little with the exhilaration of his speed and the chilly rain, and skidded to a stop. He was embarrassed for a moment as all eyes turned to him, but he pushed the feeling away.

Thankfully there wasn't much of a line. "One tall white chocolate mocha with extra whipped cream," he said "and one grande cherry frappuccino, light ice and extra whipped cream. Thanks."

The barista smiled and entered his order, he paid, and five minutes later charged back outside with the drinks, running as fast as he dared with the drinks in hand.

He had a movie night to get to and Natasha wanted her coffee.

* * *

 **A/N: This prompt took me foreeeever and I'm so sorry. It's a Tumblr prompt from my friend _agirlwithwinter_ and for whatever reason I just didn't know how to write it. She wanted me to write Steve hearing "Halo" on the radio and it reminding him of Natasha. I finally got it done, geesh.**

 **Please review, and thanks for reading!**


	26. Chapter 26: Headcanon Drabbles

Headcanon Drabbles

 _Prompt from_ rochesterborn _: My favorite Romanogers headcanon is that they are both huge fans of Star Wars._

"I refuse to wear that," Natasha huffed, crossing her arms.

Steve rolled his eyes at her and adjusted the black vest he was trying on. "Come on, it would look great on you. And you don't have to do the double buns or anything."

She gave him a long-suffering eye roll and a sigh, but he could tell she wasn't really adverse to the idea.

"Come on," he said, grinning. "I'm going as Han, you have to be Leia."

"I do not," she grumbled. "We could do a different Star Wars couple."

"What, Anakin and Padme? That was a disaster. And the pairings for the new one aren't confirmed yet." Personally Steve thought Natasha going as Rey would be adorable, but then what character was he supposed to be then? "You know you wanna get it."

"You're insufferable," she grumbled, but she was already reaching for the costume. "Bad enough you're making me go to Comic Con, we have to get costumes too."

"All your idea," Steve sang, elbowing her. "It's gonna be great.

Natasha didn't disagree.

 _Anonymous Prompt: Romanogers reunite after civil war_

He was a little afraid of seeing her again. He'd never been able to thank her for helping him escape, and he knew… he knew that she'd probably gotten in a lot of trouble. Sometimes he wondered if she'd even be there when they got back, if maybe she'd been put in jail for helping him. But he told himself that was irrational, and tried not to think about it too much.

So when he walked back into Headquarters after what felt like forever (not just the year it had really been) he was nothing but a mass of teeming nerves, tense and on edge like he expected to be shot. His team picked up on his mood, walking behind him in a small, anxious group.

He saw her first, even though Tony was standing closest to him. She looked fine – better than fine, really. He forced himself to look away, though; Tony was making a blundering attempt at an olive branch speech.

Steve would admit later that his own responses to Tony were probably terser than he meant them to be; he just wanted to talk to Nat. As soon as he dared, he turned his attention from Tony and took a hesitant step towards Natasha.

"Hey," he said.

She smiled a little, a wry turning-up of the corners of her mouth, so familiar. "Hi."

His composure was crumbling; he knew that before long he might cry or run to her or say something stupid and he wasn't sure what to do to prevent any of those things happening. He felt trapped in place and he suddenly wanted to hide.

Natasha knew what to do though (she always did) and pushed forward past Clint and Vision, heels clicking deafeningly against the floor. Then he was moving too, not sure what he meant to do but certain he had to get to her.

Her arms wrapped around his waist like she was trying to strangle him and she pressed her face into his chest, silent and maybe... maybe she was crying. Steve's arms fit just right around her shoulders.

"Hey," he said again, chuckling a little because if he wasn't careful he was going to cry too. "Thank you."

There was entirely too much going unsaid with those two words, but Natasha said a muffled "You're welcome" and held on to him even tighter, if that was possible.

"I missed you," he whispered. How he had missed her!

 _Anonymous Prompt: headcannon: single dad steve meets his daughter's ballet teacher, Nat_

Steve knew he should probably just take Grace and go home. She was tugging on his pant leg, which meant she was getting impatient. He told her, "Hang on, sweetie, I just want to talk to your ballet teacher." The ballet teacher with legs that went on for miles and brilliant red hair and the most captivating eyes he'd ever seen.

Grace apparently felt that waiting for her teacher _(what had she said her name was? Miss Natalie? Miss Nadya? Something with an N...)_ would take too long, so with all the ear-splitting power available to small lungs she hollered, "Miss Natasha! Daddy wants to talk to you."

Okay. Well, that was one way to get her attention. Steve gave Grace a reprimanding look and then sent an apologetic one Miss Natasha's way.

"Hello." The dance teacher padded over and held out a hand to shake with an amused smile on her face, and Steve realized he was out of his depth. He shook it anyway. "I don't believe we've really met. I'm Natasha Romanoff. Grace is a delight to teach."

Steve fumbled for a proper, not-creepy, answer. "Pleased to meet you too. Grace talks about you a lot. I'm Steve Rogers."

Natasha dipped her head in a gracious nod and Steve was perilously close to asking her something stupid like "You wanna get dinner sometime?". But instead, he asked, "So she's not much trouble?" He winked at Grace before continuing, "She's a terrible mischief-maker at home."

Natasha laughed _(oh, shit, she had a nice laugh too)_ and shook her head. "No, she's very well-behaved."

"Good." Steve scrambled for something, anything else to say, and came up blank. "Well, Miss Romanoff, it was very nice to meet you, finally," he said, smiling awkwardly. "Keep up the good work." That last part was such a _dad_ thing to say; he cringed inwardly and wanted to kick himself.

"I'll certainly try," she teased, and then she said a quick "Excuse me, it was nice to meet you" as her attention was drawn away by another set of parents.

Steve was forced to walk out of the studio with Grace and pretend that he wasn't still distracted by the seeming perfection that was her dance teacher.

Meanwhile, Natasha was having an equally difficult time pretending that she wasn't still thinking about Grace's father and his arms. If he was to do a lift with her (an impossible scenario but still) he'd probably hold her up without so much as breathing heavily. Those smiles should be criminal, and he was so cute with Grace. He was perfect, as far as she could tell.

But then apparently she was being asked for her opinion on something, so she was forced to set aside the image of his hands around her waist for later examination.

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 **A/N: Last weekend on Tumblr I asked for people to send in their favorite Romanogers headcanons for me to write a small drabble in response, and these were the results. Hope you enjoy! (If y'all wanna do the same, you can.) ;)**

 **Please do review!**


	27. Chapter 27: Eyes On Me

Eyes On Me

Natasha swirled the vodka around in her glass, staring blankly at it. That was easier than paying attention to all the greasy, perfumed business executives and small-time politicians. She knew why they had to do events like this, for the public relations, but the only one who enjoyed them was Tony. Everyone else, herself included, hated these events. Some of them were just better at hiding it, she thought, looking with amusement over at Steve. His shoulders were hunched tight together with frustration, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked like he might implode from discomfort.

She swallowed some more of her drink, planning to go over and rescue him, but she was stopped by a smarmy-looking man with a perfectly swept hairstyle, dignified worry lines, a crisp, untouched suit, and a pretentious smile, who came over and leant against the counter next to her.

"Miss Romanoff. Could I just say how much I appreciate your contributions to the safety of our community," the man said, raking his eyes up and down her figure in deep appreciation of something else entirely. She stifled a sigh and the urge to punch him.

"Thank you," she said coldly. She didn't ask for his name. Her civility didn't extend that far. She had to be polite, which meant she couldn't break any bones, but she could break other things if pressed. Like his ego, inflated enough to make him think he could flirt with a Black Widow and get anything other than a dismissal.

"I was in D.C. when you and the Captain took out Hydra," he said, sitting down. Natasha sighed and did the best to communicate with both her posture and expression that she was not only not interested, but disgusted. She didn't really expect him to catch on, but it was worth a try. She'd prefer to give him a chance to get himself out of the situation before she started in on him. "Then when I saw you on the news, I thought, 'This lady is crazy.' Lucky for you, I like a little crazy."

"Why lucky for me?" Natasha answered coolly. "I wasn't aware you had the ability to get me locked up. Because otherwise I don't give a rat's ass what you like. Actually-"

"Excuse me." Steve could move silently when he chose, which no one ever expected. The business man clearly didn't, because he flinched as if stuck with a pin and turned around, smearing on a pleasant smile. "I believe Miss Romanoff is trying to tell you to get the hell out of her space." Natasha wasn't sure whether to be amused by the man's shocked expression, or irritated that Steve felt like he had to butt in.

The business man's smile faltered before he put it back on, then he put his hands up in a placating gesture. "Sorry, Captain. I don't quite agree with your assessment, but-"

"You think she's into you?" Steve said, his voice heavy with dry, sarcastic humor. Natasha understood, now, how little Steve Rogers had gotten in so many fights. It would be one thing if he Captain America'ed the situation until the guy had to feel ashamed and walked away, but no, Steve was just calling it like he saw it. Which meant one of Tony's stockholders was getting the full force of Steve's disapproving sass. Natasha decided to suspend her irritation till later and just enjoy the show.

"Well…" The man floundered for an explanation, then cast Natasha a helpless look, like, _you tell him_. She raised her glass of vodka in salute, letting herself smirk. He looked blank for a second, then slowly turned back around in his seat to face Steve. Hopefully he was examining the life choices that had led him to a point where Captain freaking America was giving him the Righteous Stare of DeathTM.

Steve crossed his arms, the movement straining his already struggling dress shirt. "Tony asked us to be on our best behavior tonight," literally, actually, Tony had said that, "but I think you're in danger of several broken ribs right now. I'm just warning you, for your own good. Nat has a wicked roundhouse kick."

Natasha almost laughed, but instead winked at Steve over the man's head.

The guy sounded surprised Steve wasn't threatening anything himself when he next spoke. "Warning me?"

"Yeah. Not that you don't deserve it. I wouldn't mind breaking your nose myself. But we don't want to let Tony down, so I'm asking you to please leave Natasha alone before she makes it impossible for you to walk tomorrow." Steve's resulting smile was a baring of teeth, triumphantly fierce. "In the very literal, very painful sense."

The business man practically vaulted himself out of his seat and out of there. Steve casually dropped into his vacated seat and raised an eyebrow. "Did I do that okay?"

She laughed. "What do you mean?"

"You were getting annoyed there for a bit. I know you can take care of yourself, but I just…" He shrugged sheepishly. "Didn't like him. Anyway, he said he liked crazy, so I thought if you threatened him yourself it might not work as well."

Natasha laughed again. She'd been mad, that was true. But Steve, first with his confident assistance and then his more awkward explanation, made it okay. "Alright, fair enough, Rogers." She met his eyes and was once again alarmed by how warm she felt when she looked at him. Definitely too risky, she thought.

But it was a party. She could claim to be drunk – she was, after all, drinking vodka. Not that he would buy it. But Steve going from confident and protective to awkward and proud might be too attractive to resist.

Maybe she _was_ a little drunk, because she should know that Steve was exactly the kind of person to attach strings to a kiss, to take everything the wrong way. She'd kissed him once – he was no great kisser – and certainly not one to let her get away with the excuse "I was drunk," so why did she want to? He knew her too well.

She just… she wanted to know. Wanted to know if maybe, just maybe, he would kiss her back. Wanted to know if he kissed any better when they had time for it. Wanted to know if the kiss would be like a thousand others or if it being him would make it better.

She wanted to find out how much danger she was in.

What if he kissed her back? What if he did love her and she had to let him down after that? She couldn't risk it. But looking away from those blue eyes was hard, and telling herself she didn't want _more_ was harder.

"Are you okay, Nat?" Steve asked, sounding halfway between worried and shy. "Are you sure you aren't mad?"

"Yes, you dumbass," she managed, smiling a little. "I'm not mad. Just tired."

He stood up. "Good." His leather shoes shuffled on the floor, then she heard him walking away.

Natasha didn't stop him, as much as she wanted to. She was impulsive sometimes, but not stupid enough to actually kiss him. She knew what that could lead to and she wasn't going to compromise herself that much.

Not tonight, anyway, she thought, looking up and smiling at his hesitant walk back to the misery of stockholders and politicians. It was a little worrying how little concern she felt upon realizing that if he asked her, she would be his without much of a struggle. Oh, she was in far over her head. And she hated it.

 _Although it was certainly intoxicating._

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 **A/N:** **A year without uploading, she comes back with a prompt, that no one even asked her for...**

 **Yeah. Hey guys! I am so SLOW, I'm so sorry. In my defense, I've been working hard on other projects/starting a new job/etcetera. This isn't even one of you guys' prompts for which I apologize. It was just a burst of inspiration. I still love you, no worries. ;)**

 **Please review! Maybe don't give me any more prompts rn though... Life is a little too busy for them atm.**


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